Broken Wings
by SUPRNTRAL LVR
Summary: Castiel is hearing a voice in his head, and when he finds a certain Winchester beaten, bloodied and surrounded by demons things are definately about to get complicated. Features Limp!Winchesters and Hurt!Castiel. NO SLASH! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: One day I'll kidnap Jared and Jensen and make them play out Supernatural episodes with me over and over... but until then, I don't own them or the series.**

**My first fic featuring Castiel, so I hope you guys like it! Its a bit of an AU to The End, Season 5 I suppose, quite a random idea.**

**Warning: Contains blood, a little bit of swearing (are you really surprised?) and NO SLASH!**

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Dean blinked as Zachariah's smirking face vanished to be replaced by Castiel's slightly smug smile. He let out a long breath of relief he didn't realize he had been holding and let a wobbly smile rush over his face.

"That was pretty nice timing, Cas."

Castiel smiled. "We had an appointment."

Dean visibally relaxed and placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. "Don't _ever_ change."

Castiel blinked but if he was confused he did not let on. "How did Zachariah find you?"

"Long story. Lets just stay away from Jehovahs Witnesses, huh?"

Castiel watched as Dean suddenly groped for his mobile, his smile fading.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should've done in the first place," Dean replied, his eyes fixed firmly on the mobile. Then, as Castiel frowned, "I'm calling Sam."

"Oh."

Castiel watched him silently as he lifted his mobile to his ear and listened to the ringing. After a few seconds Sam's voicemail came on, and Dean scowled. He hesitated as the mobile beeped, his cue to leave a message... he bit his lip.

"Hey, Sam, its me. Dean. I just... call me when you get this, okay? I need to talk to you." He hung up and pushed the mobile back into his pocket, turning to Castiel as he did so. "So, think you can airlift my baby over here?"

Castiel's smile faded. "I cannot. Besides the sight would cause far too much confusion amongst the ordinary people in the streets."

"Yeah, I figured," Dean said. He glanced around, pausing. "Okay. Where are we?"

"Just out of town."

"Good. I'll head back in and get the car, probably have to lay low until Zachariah's definately gone."

"But..." Castiel cocked his head. "I wanted to talk to you about-"

"I know, I know," Dean sighed. "I swear, we'll get right on that. But first I really need to talk to Sam."

Castiel looked a little put out, but he nodded anyway. Dean clapped him on the shoulder once more and then began to walk back towards the flickering lights of the city just behind them. Castiel turned to watch him leave, his face troubled.

And so, once more, he was left standing on the side of the road with nothing to do but wait...

_Castiel..._

Castiel froze, his eyes widening. He remained completely still, certain that he had imagined the voice, misheard some sound of the night. He waited, almost quivering with expectation.

_Castiel. We must talk._

Castiel shut his eyes, trying to relax. The voice was definately angelic, and yet he hadn't heard another angel's voice for months. He swallowed hard, tried to focus his mind on the voice.

_Who... are you?_

_You know me. We must talk now... wait..._

_Wait?_

_Danger... you are needed._

The voice vanished abruptly, and Castiel flinched in surprise. He tried calling, but there was no response. He began to pace, lost as to what to do. Someone wanted to talk to him. It could easily be a trick, some attempt by Zachariah to catch him off guard. But that voice had definately not been Zachariah's. That voice he had heard before somewhere. That voice... he clenched his teeth as a curse rose on his tongue. He had definately been spending far too much time around Dean. If he wasn't careful, soon he too would be using blasphemy every other sentence.

Dean. He could approach Dean with what had happened, but he couldn't help but feel wary of that thought. There was something about that voice that was private, special. He wasn't sure if he wanted Dean to know about it just yet. But there wasn't really much he could do alone... He shut his eyes, ready to call again when a very different voice suddenly penetrated his mind.

_"Oh god, please, help me... help me... shit... God, oh god... help me, please, please..."_

Castiel's eyes snapped open. Now _that _voice was not angelic. That voice was very human, and very desperate. The voice spoke again, and the reality of what he was hearing finally dawned on him. He was listening to a prayer. It wasn't unusual - he often caught snatches of the prayers of humans. But again, this voice was familiar. More familiar, in fact, than the previous one but he still couldn't quite place it. He _could, _however, track it... the previous voice had pricked in interest. And could they be connected? He hadn't heard a prayer for at least three months. Surely it had to mean something. Without a second thought he began to move. Not walk, or run, but _fly. _The world streaked past him, a mere blur at the edge of his vision. He kept the voice clear in his mind, homing in on it as it grew clearer.

He came to a sharp halt in a dull street in New York, cocking his head slightly. He could still hear the whispered prayer of the one begging for his help, and it was beginning to irritate him. He hadn't heard a prayer this clearly since he had rebelled against Uriel, and the fact that he listening to someone he knew only made it even more worrying. And the person's voice was getting weaker. Whoever it was was running out of time.

_"Please... please help me..."_

Castiel could hear a dull thumping from somewhere to his left. He turned slowly, his eyes falling to a rusted door set into the building beside him, almost obscured by a mouldy green dumpster. From within he could just hear the sound of laughter, a sound which had a strange edge to it. _Demons._

_"Agh! Shit, no! Someone, please!"_

Castiel only hesitated for a moment longer. Then he strode towards the door and flung out a hand, sending it flying open with a loud _Bang! _He stepped into the room, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with a faint light. He took in the scene before him in a matter of seconds, his eyes flicking breifly from side to side. A torn sofa stood at one end of the room stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. Before it stood a table, littered with sweet wrappers, takeaway boxes, cans and bottles. There was a small bar light across the ceiling, which was blinking on and off. There were six demons in the room altogether, three attacking a door in the opposite wall with everything they had, one gulping vodka from a large, half-full bottle, one standing back and watching, laughing. The final demon stood just in front of the door, cackling loudly, arms crossed before it. As Castiel entered it turned, black eyes glistening. Even as the grin slipped from its face, Castiel slammed his hand down on the demon's forehead. White light exploded from the host's eyes and mouth as the demon screamed, howled in agony. Castiel tore his hand away as the unconscious host slumped to the floor and stepped forwards to face the two demons who had turned to face him - the girl who had been watching the others, the boy with the vodka bottle. Blood was streaked across the girl's face, but it was not her own and she smirked as she met his gaze.

They lunged forwards as one and Castiel twisted, lashing out so that his foot caught the boy in the stomach, his fist twisted in the girl's collar. He dragged her forwards and put his hand to her head, threw her away even before she had finished screaming as the boy ran forwards again. The demon's fist caught him on the jaw and he stumbled backwards into the table. The ricketty furniture gave way at once beneath him and he crashed to the ground. The demon threw itself forwards, but Castiel lashed out with both feet and sent it tumbling to the floor. He scrambled forwards onto his knees and slammed a hand down on the demon before it could recover. As the blazing light burst from the figure one of the three demons near the door finally seemed to realize what was going on and ran to help. Castiel flung out a hand, stopping it dead before it could continue, but this one was stronger and it fought against him. No sooner had the vodka demon finally fallen still beside him, the other one had pulled free and was racing towards Castiel. Its booted foot swung up and caught him across the face, sending him toppling over onto the ground.

Across the room, the door suddenly gave way and the two demons poured into the room beyond. A scream errupted, both from the room and from within Castiel's head.

_"No! Shit, no, help me.... gah!"_

Castiel's stomach lurched and he rose up to his feet, his eyes burning furiously. He hit the demon before him once, twice, three times, blood flowing from the host's nose and lip. He brought his knee up into the demon's stomach and then, as it doubled over, brought both hands down on its head. It screeched, inhuman and wild, as he tore the demon from its host.

_"G-God... someone..."_

Castiel quickened his pace to a jog as he neared the room. The voice was faltering, he could almost feel the waves of pain rushing out from the room. As he reached the door, voices reached his ears.

"Give it up, kid. Your brother ain't coming this time. Its just you-" _Thud _"-me-" _Thud _"-and fun, fun, fun until that pretty light in those pretty little eyes of yours goes _out!_"

Another thud and a yelp of pain. Castiel kicked the door back and emerged into a small tiled bathroom. The floor was slippery with blood in the corner where the two remaining demons - a blonde woman and a coloured man - were standing with their victim. The man was holding him against the wall while the woman clawed at him. A knife hung from her fingers, dripping with crimson blood. Castiel could barely see who it was he had been fighting for - a tall man, probably mid-twenties, blood drenching his T-shirt and leaking into his jacket, his face a mass of bruises. Barely a glimpse. As Castiel moved forwards the woman demon turned, and then nudged her accomplice.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice breathless with the joy of torture. "An angel. I feel honoured_, _really I do."

Her companion sank his fist into the victim's stomach and then hurled him into the corner where he curled up and crouched motionless. The two demons stepped forwards, black eyes glinting. Castiel watched them silently.

"I didn't think you'd show up," the woman said. "Its the other one you favour, isn't it? And besides, with him being _tainted _and all, he's not really your type, is he?"

Something stirred in the back of Castiel's mind and he glanced quickly at the shuddering, still unrecognizable figure on the ground. No, it couldn't be. The demon suddenly grabbed for him, and he turned his attention back to them. He flicked himself backwards out of reach and hit the woman in the face. As the man approached Castiel flung an arm out, pinning the demon to the wall, and turned to face the woman. He put his hand to her face. She writhed in his grasp as light began to burn in her eyes.

"I'll kill you for this, you son of... of..." Her snarl died on her lips as the light glowed brightly and she fell to the floor.

Castiel turned to the man, who was fighting against him. The man's eyes widened in fear as Castiel stepped forwards.

"N-No... Let me go, I'll leave the kid alone, I swear!"

Castiel twitched his head. "Forgiveness is His area of expertise," he growled, flicking his eyes skywards. "Unfortunately for you, it is not mine."

He thrust his hand forwards. The demon screamed, and then slid down the wall and lay still on the ground. Castiel pulled a deep breath in and out of his lungs, closing his eyes to compose himself. He sent a short prayer to whoever was listening, apologising for his sins and asking for understanding. Then he turned to the man who was curled into the corner, his bloody fingers gripping the wall as if he would never let go. His hair was wet and blood trickled from several deep cuts on his face, which was more blue than natural skin. Blood was creeping from beneath him in a spreading pool across the tiles at an alarmingly fast rate. Harsh, gasping breaths tore in and out of his bleeding lips.

Castiel made his way forwards, slow, cautious steps. The man twisted away, his whole body trembling with the anticipation of another blow, his shoulders heaving. Castiel dropped slowly down onto his haunches, reached out a hand. He touched the man's shoulder, and the man let out a whimper of pain.

"N-No..."

"It's alright." Castiel kept his voice soft. He had dealt with wounded humans before, of course he had, but always only for a few seconds. Usually there was someone else coming to help. There was no one coming now. But his words seemed to work; the man turned his head slightly, his glazed eyes flickering open. The word that shivered from his lips was almost expected, and yet it still sent a thrill of surprise through Castiel's spine.

"D... D-Dean?"

Castiel slowly withdrew his hand, his eyes widening. For the man crouched in the corner, covered in blood, shivering and bruised was indeed someone he knew.

It was Sam Winchester.

**Dun-dun-dah!! Anyone interested at all? If not I'll quit while I'm ahead. :D**

**Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them... just you wait...**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed this. I was really surprised at the great response. Anyway, on with the next chapter!**

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Sam Winchester.

Hell spawned, demon-blooded, black-souled Sam Winchester.

Castiel sat back heavily on his heels, almost numb to the blood that was seeping from the tiles beneath him into his trouser knees. He stared down at the crumpled, trembling form, trying to convince himself that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. If he had only known that it had been his prayers he had been hearing, he would never have come... _No. _He didn't mean that. Even if this man was half demon, he was still half human. And if he was human, then he was a child of god and that made it Castiel's duty to help him. Castiel's eyes dropped to the thick, vibrant blood that covered Sam's shirt and lay in thick pools on the tiles, almost black against the white. Castiel was no expert on humans, but he was sure that losing that much blood couldn't be good. But what should he do...?

"De...an," Sam gasped, blood dribbling from his lips.

He lifted his hand, fumbling for his brother, and his fingers clenched in Castiel's coat. Castiel suppressed a shudder and took Sam's wrist, peeling his fingers away as gently as he could. It took a few tries - Sam's hands were slippery with blood.

"No," he said stiffly. "I'm Castiel."

Sam's glazed eyes slid towards him and focussed blearily on his face. Castiel saw a flash of fear, and then confusion. "Wh... what... r'you... doing here?"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "I heard your prayer," he said. Another thought hit him, a flicker of hope. "Your brother tried to call you just a few minutes ago. Where is your mobile?"

Sam blinked slowly. "Mo...mobile..."

"Samuel?" Castiel steeled himself and then reached out and took the Winchester's shoulder. "Your mobile, Sam?"

"I..." Sam squinted at him. Sweat was standing out on his forehead in tiny beads. "They... t-took it..."

"Oh." Castiel frowned, and then his gaze brightened. "I have one. Wait a moment."

He pulled the mobile from his coat pocket... and his smile faded. A deep crack ran right across the screen and into the keypad, rendering the object useless. It must have been broken in the flight. Castiel tossed the mobile away and looked at Sam once more, his heart thumping hard. He was going to need Dean as soon as possible, but what if he left and the demons returned? And besides, Dean didn't have anywhere to stay anymore since Zachariah had discovered him. He thought for a moment longer and then reached for Sam again.

"Samuel, what do you want me to do?"

Sam's blank eyes stared straight through him. His shallow breathing hitched slightly. "Mo...motel..."

Castiel's brow furrowed even further. Sam wanted to go to a motel? A thousand questions leapt into his mind - why, money, where, suspicion... he decided to go for the most pressing one.

"Which one?"

Sam's hand sluggishly lifted and moved towards his jacket pocket. He hooked his fingers into it and drew out a small key and tag. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers uncurled, offering the key. Castiel didn't move. That blood, though more or less clean now, still bore the stains of demons. The thought of willingly touching it sent a shiver of repulsion through him. He cleared his throat.

"Which motel are you staying at?"

Sam's head lolled back against the wall, sharp rasps pulling in and out of his lungs. Castiel watched him, his heart jerking in his chest. This did not look good at all, and still he had no idea what to do. And Sam's face had just paled rapidly, his breathing catching in his lungs.

"Samuel?" he called, leaning forwards.

"C-Call... D-Dean."

Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and he began to slide down the wall towards the ground. Alarmed, Castiel lurched forwards and grabbed his arm, catching him before he could complete his fall.

"Samuel? Sam?" he repeated, raising his voice.

No response. Sam's weight pulled at his arm, and Castiel awkwardly shifted forwards and lowered the other man to the floor, settling him on his side with his back to the wall. A long, sickening smear of blood trailed behind him. Castiel felt a wetness on his palm and whipped his hands back, grimacing as he took in the blood covering his fingers. _Demon... _He wiped his hands on his coat, shifting backwards. The key had fallen from Sam's hand and skittered across the floor to stop beside Castiel's left knee, and he gingerly reached out to pick it up. Trying to avoid touching the blood on it, he narrowed his eyes to read the lettering.

_Southview Motel. Room 26. Ohio._

His gaze returned to Sam. He could almost feel the life draining out of the other man in thick floods, feel his shallow, faltering breaths. Dean loved his brother. If Sam died, there would be terrible consequences. Castiel shut his eyes, bracing himself. Then, quickly so that he couldn't stop himself, he reached out and gripped Sam under the arms, rising quickly to his feet at the same time. He bit back a gasp as he dragged Sam up with him, at the weight pulling back down. He inched closer to the human, pulling his arm around his own shoulders so that Sam sank heavily onto him. His head lolled against Castiel's cheek and the angel winced as blood trickled down his face.

_Just do it._

He wrapped his left arm around Sam's waist, pulling the man closer to him. Sam's knees buckled like jelly beneath him, offering no support whatsoever. Castiel gritted his teeth and looked down at the motel key clasped tightly in his left hand.

_Southview Motel, room 26. Southview Motel, room 26..._

He felt the familiar rush as the ground jerked out from beneath him. He sped backwards through nothingness, Sam still held tightly to his side, a blaze of light and sound beating down on his ears. Within five seconds he came to an abrupt halt in a bland, green corridor, standing before a bland, green door. The numbers '26' had been printed onto the wood. Castiel's eyes dropped to the lock. He limped closer to the door, turning so that his left hand was closest to it, and stabbed the small key blindly at the lock. On the third try it sank into the small hole and he twisted it, feeling a small rush of triumpah. The door clicked open and Castiel heaved Sam inside, snatching the key back as he went.

The room was, in one word, disgusting. Paint peeled from the walls, stains blotched the carpet and there was a faint, dank, rotting smell as if something had died in it recently. Castiel could hear the tiny clicking of cockroaches from somewhere in the corner near the television, the scuttle of tiny legs against wood. A large, heavy rifle lay on the bedside table along with two small knives. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Castiel staggered towards the only bed in the room. He pulled Sam from his shoulder and dropped him onto the bed, pushing him into the middle. Satisfied, he stepped back and folded his arms.

He'd done it. The demon boy was safe... and yet the blood creeping over the sheets of the bed said otherwise. Castiel bit his lip, absently wiping the blood from his cheek.

_"C-Call... D-Dean."_

Yes, that was all he needed to do. Call Dean, and everything would be fine. He shut his eyes.

Dean let out a yelp as Castiel came to a halt in the passengar seat of the Impala. Castiel arched one eyebrow as the older Winchester fought the car back onto the road and slowed down, placing a trembling hand to his forehead.

"Christ, how many times, Cas! Don't - do - that!"

Castiel stared unblinkingly back at him, slightly stung. He'd just dragged the man's bleeding brother from danger and this was the thanks he got... He shook his head. Dean glanced at him, scowling.

"What is it? Did Zachariah see me?"

"I do not think so," Castiel replied. "No, it's your brother. He appears to be in danger. I think he may need your help."

Dean shot him an incredulous glance. "He _appears _to be in danger? What're you..."

His voice trailed off as he took in the blood on Castiel's face and coat. Castiel watched him as he looked the angel up and down, and then veered off the road and pulled into the side. Dean shut off the engine, twisting to face him.

"Is that..." he swallowed hard, jerking his head at Castiel's coat. "Is that his?"

Castiel nodded. "It is. There was a lot on the floor as well."

Dean's face paled. His mouth opened and closed noiselessly, as if he was having trouble breathing. "What... how?"

"Demons. There were six of them when I arrived. I killed them but your brother has passed out and I cannot wake him."

Dean's hand flew to his hair, clawing through it with trembling fingers. "Shit... how bad is it?"

"It?"

"How bad is he hurt?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied, cocking his head. "I do not know much of human anatomy."

Dean passed a hand over his face, his jaw tightly clenched. He nodded, as if agreeing with something. "Okay. Okay," he said, his voice shaking. "Where is he?"

Castiel pulled the motel key from his pocket. Dean's eyebrows leapt at the blood spattered over it and there was a long pause before he took it. His eyes flicked over the address stamped on the end.

"Ohio... we're about an hour off," he muttered. "I have to get there." Castiel reached out but Dean wriggled away, swatting his hand back. "Not by angel express! I need the car."

Castiel blinked in confusion, and then nodded. "Very well," he said. "I must go. There's a-"

"No!" Dean grabbed his arm, his voice snapping through the air like a gunshot. "No, you have to go back to Sam."

Castiel shot him an arched eyebrow and pulled his arm free. "What?"

"Please, Cas, _someone _has to watch him until I get there. Otherwise he'll bleed out..."

"But..."

Dean's pleading eyes bore into Castiel's, begging. Castiel sighed heavily and then nodded. "Alright," he muttered. "But what am I supposed to do?"

"Get a towel or something and stop the bleeding. Put pressure on his wounds for at least ten minutes, okay? And try to wake him up and make him _stay _awake until I'm there. Understand? He needs to _stay awake. _And try to find some tylenol for the pain. And don't let anyone see you or we'll have the cops on our tail..."

He was talking too fast. Something about bleeding and ten minutes. And staying awake. And finding 'tylenol,' whatever that was. Dean was watching him intently, eyes shimmering with desperation.

"You got that?"

Castiel nodded. Dean didn't look very comforted. He slammed the Impala's engine into life and roared out onto the road, the tyres squealing loudly. Assuming he was dismissed, Castiel turned away and threw himself back towards Ohio once more. As he raced through space his ears caught Dean's last few words.

_"God, hold on, Sammy. I'm coming, I'm coming."_

Sammy. Castiel hadn't heard that nickname for a long time.

Sam himself hadn't moved an inch since Castiel had left - he was still sprawled on the bed, one leg hanging off the side, blood dripping steadily onto the floor. Castiel slowly stepped forwards, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Samuel?" he called hesitantly.

Sam's eyes remained closed. Castiel reached the bed and reached out to jostle him lightly. Again Sam made no movement. Castiel sighed heavily: he was on his own. Now, what was it Dean had told him? _Stop the bleeding... get a towel. Right. _Castiel turned and flicked himself forwards a few meters into the bathroom. He snatched up the first towel he saw and then returned to Sam, reappearing beside him within a few moments. He looked blankly at the Winchester's bloody T-shirt. He should probably take it off. He put down the towel and leant forwards to take hold of the matireal. He tore it down the centre and peeled the wet fabric away. Below Sam's chest was covered with bruises and deep, weeping gashes. He could see more blood than skin. Swallowing down the nausea that rose in him at the sight and smell of the once-tainted blood, he wiped the towel over Sam's chest, mopping up most of the blood. Instantly blood welled up in the wounds once more, and Castiel pressed the towel over them.

At once Sam's face contorted with pain and he let out a moan, twisting his head away. Castiel stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. His actions were obviously causing pain, but Dean had told him to do it. Sam moaned again and his eyes flickered open, staring blindly at the ceiling.

"D-De...unh..."

"Sam?"Castiel asked hopefully. "Can you hear me?"

Sam twisted his head away, his body shuddering under Castiel's hands. Castiel wondered if it had been ten minutes yet or not. A sudden knock at the door made him start and he turned, keeping his hands on Sam. It couldn't have been an hour already, could it? He floundered, lost.

"Dean?" he shouted hopefully.

Another round of hammering. "Hello? Room service."

_Room service? _So it wasn't Dean. Castiel hesitated.

"No, thank you," he shouted back at last. "Not now."

"I've been asked to come and check with you, Sir, if you're staying any longer. You need to sign something for me."

Castiel paused. Sam moaned again and Castiel reluctantly lifted his hands. He turned and strode over to the door, pulled it open. A young woman in jeans and a T-shirt was standing outside, her arms folded. She smiled sweetly at him as he frowned at her.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Sir, I need to come in there for a moment."

"Uh... no," Castiel said, shaking his head. "Not now."

He began to close the door, but the woman stuck her foot in it. "I'm sorry," she said, cocking her head. "Is that blood on your coat?"

Castiel looked down at the stains, and then up at her again, trying to think of something to say. He couldn't lie... Dean would tell him to lie. He bit his lip and then tried to close the door again. Her hand flew out to catch it, holding it back.

"Its just," she said, grinning. "It smells so good..."

Before Castiel could speak her eyes had flooded black and her fist was in his face. He flew backwards and slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room. He hit the floor and surged up to his feet, cursing himself for not sensing what she was. He'd been too distracted with Sam. The demon walked lesuirely into the room, placing her hands on her hips. A second demon, a redheaded man strode in after her, kicking the door shut behind him.

"No need for introductions," the woman said. "I know exactly who you are." Her eyes glittered dangerously. She rolled her name off her tongue as if it was a chocolate she was savouring. "Cas-ti-el. The angel that rebelled."

Castiel's eyes narrowed and he stepped forwards, lifting his hand, but she simply grinned and flung out her arm. He was jerked off his feet and thrown across the room. Stars exploded before his eyes as his head struck the wall. Before he could recover two meaty hands had grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, pushing him back against the wall with a thrust that stole his breath away. The redheaded demon glared at him, smirking.

"Not so powerful now, are ya?" he demanded. "You know, those were our friends you torched back there. Don't suppose you give a shit though, do you?"

Castiel couldn't breathe. He forced his hands up and groped for the demon's forehead, but the demon simply grinned at him.

"Yeah, nice try. Its gonna take a little more than that to take _us _down."

"Shouldn't have come between us and demon-boy here," the woman said, crossing to Sam and tapping his leg. She trailed a finger along his bleeding chest and then put it in her mouth, smirking. "Delicious."

Castiel flung out as much power as he could muster, but the demons barely flinched. The woman smiled innocently.

"Well, its been great but I'm afraid its now time for you to go," she said. "We have some business with Sammy here."

She closed her eyes, turned her face skywards. The redheaded demon tightened his grip, shaking Castiel slightly. Castiel lashed out wildly with his feet, but it was like attacking a brick wall. Latin began to spill from the female demon's lips and a burning heat leapt through Castiel's chest, sending a jolt of pain through him. He began to struggle violently, his heart thundering in his chest.

_No, no, no... they'll kill him... have to get free..._

Blinding light flooded across his vision and the heat in his chest intensified. He could _feel _himself being torn up and out, feel Jimmy beginning to breathe again. He began to panick-

_BLAM!_

There was a scream of pain and the demon holding Castiel let go. He dropped to the ground, gasping, and looked up. Sam had propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand gripping the rifle that had been lying on his bedside table. His hand shook wildly with the weight of the weapon, but his face was determind and steady as he glared at the demons, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

"B-Back off," he rasped.

The redheaded demon rose shakily to his feet, rock salt burried in his left side. He started towards the bed but Castiel leapt forwards and wrapped both arms around him, dragging him backwards. The woman had turned to Sam, her face twisted with anger.

"Don't play the hero," she snapped. "You're pathetic!"

She darted forwards. Sam pulled his hand back and hit her across the face with the rifle, but the effort sent him dropping back down on the bed, eyes squeezed shut in pain. The woman smirked and snatched up one of the knives on the table, raising it above her head.

"You'll pay for that one, blood-boy," she growled.

Castiel shoved the struggling demon away from him and lunged for her - and the whole world exploded. White light flooded everywhere, so pure that even Castiel clamped his eyes shut. An awesome wave of power rushed through the room, so strong that it drove Castiel to his knees.

_You owe me a favour for this, Castiel._

His eyes snapped open. The whispered phrase slipped away from him, as if he had simply imagined it and fustration surged through him. _NO! _he shouted back, lifting his head. _Wait! Tell me who you are, I must know! Who are you?_

And then the light was receeding, vanishing just as suddenly as it had appeared. Castiel looked around, blinking at the sudden change. The two demons lay motionless on the floor, their blank, human eyes gazing into space. Sam was still on the bed, breathing hard. He looked at Castiel, his eyes already glazed with pain.

"That wasn't me," Castiel muttered. "That wasn't me..."

Sam's eyes drifted shut and he dropped back down onto the bed. Castiel turned his head to look out of the open window, frowning coldly. Who was invading his mind? Why didn't they just say who they were? He was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a few minutes to realize that he could no longer hear Sam breathing.

**Anyone still interested? Should I give it up? Let me know!**

**Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them... just you wait...**

**Reviews make me get up in the morning!! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot to me. Little bit of Dean POV in this chapter, thought it was about time he got a look in.**

* * *

Castiel rose to his feet and swayed there, watching Sam's motionless form with wide eyes. He moved forwards cautiously, stepping over the bodies of the ex-demons on the ground. His walk slowed to snails pace as he neared the bed.

"Samuel?"

Sam didn't move. Castiel swallowed hard and strained his ears, hardly daring to even twitch in case he would break the silence stretching over the room like a shroud. He listened as hard as he could, hoping, praying...

_"Huh... huh... huh..."_

Castiel's knees actually trembled as he clenched his eyes shut, hardly able to contain his relief. Sam was alive, actually alive and breathing, however shallowly. Castiel strode forwards to the side of the bed and snatched up the blood-stained towel that had fallen to the floor. He pressed it against the other man's chest and his stomach jerked slightly when Sam remained silent. For what must have been the tenth time in the last few minutes, Castiel wished that he knew more about humans. If Dean didn't arrive soon, it was clear that Sam was not going to last. He held down the towle for a few more moments, and then cautiously lifted it. The bleeding was slowing, but not by much. Castiel returned the towel again, trying to make himself relax.

The sooner Dean got here, the better.

* * *

The Impala tore into the parking lot of Southview Motel and screeched to a halt, tyres squealing loudly. Dean scrambled out of it before the engine had even stopped properly. He sprinted around to the back of it, pulled out the Winchester first aid kit and then, after a moments hesitation, a shotgun which he placed under his jacket. He turned and raced towards the motel. A sign just beyond the door told him that rooms 20 to 29 were on the second floor. Dean took the stairs two at a time.

As he reached the top of the stairs he abruptly slowed down, a sick feeling taking root in his stomach. He had made the hour drive in forty five minutes due to speeding, swearing and more speeding, and yet he was still terrified. Over and over he had told himself that Sam would be fine, that Castiel was with him, that the angel couldn't possibly let his brother die. Just as quickly, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Castiel didn't even know how to deal with a papercut, let alone wounds that produced enough blood to stain a coat that deeply. He had tried to stay optimistic, but as he started down the corridor his blood was pounding furiously in his ears with fear.

He passed room twenty two.

_Idiot. Idiot! Why the hell did you leave him? This stupid idea of splitting up... what the freaking hell had possessed him to agree to it? What had made him remain silent as Sam walked away from him? He should have known this would happen. Frickin' cursed Winchester luck._

Room twenty four.

_If he's dead now, its your fault, Dean Winchester, _He told himself savagely. _If he died, its YOUR freaking fault! He deserved so much more than you, you stuck up-_

Room twenty six appeared in front of him and he stopped, heart leaping into his throat. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to force himself to breathe evenly. Then he lifted a shaking fist and rapped loudly on the door. He waited, biting his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He waited some more. Then his shallow patience snapped and he hit the door again, raising his voice.

"Cas! Sam! Someone open the freaking door!"

There was a sudden scuffling sound and then the door swung open to reveal Castiel. The angel looked shell-shocked; his eyes were wide, his face white, his hair on end. A rabbit in the headlights. If the situation hadn't been so terrifying, Dean would have laughed. He pushed past Castiel, words tumbling from his lips as his eyes scanned the dark room.

"You okay? He okay? Where is he? Did you stop the bleeding, find any pills or anything? Has he..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on Sam. He froze on the spot, rocking back on his feet. Then he strode forwards, pulling out the shotgun and tossing it to the floor, shoving the first aid kit onto the bedside cabinet. He dropped to his knees and his hands flew to Sam, ghosting over his bare chest, finally coming to a rest on his brother's face.

"Sammy? Jesus _Christ... _Sam, you hear me?"

Sam's eyebrow twitched slightly, but he gave no other response. Dried and wet blood mingled together on his face in a red mess, streaked across his face and down over his neck. Several deep lacerations scarred his chest and ugly purple and black bruising darkened the right side of it. Blood was weeping from the gashes steadily, causing deep pools over the sheets. Dean slid his hand downwards and pressed lightly, feeling at least three broken ribs. Sam flinched slightly, letting out a weak moan, and Dean pressed his bloodied hand over his eyes, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths.

"Shit... _shit..."_

"Blasphemy."

Dean twisted around on his knees, staring over his shoulder at Castiel who was standing beside the open door, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

"What?"

Castiel's blank eyes lifted to meet Dean's. "You shouldn't use the Lord's name like that."

Dean let out a short bark of hysterical laughter. "Shut the door," he muttered. "And get me some hot water."

Castiel blinked at him, and then closed the door softly and wandered away into the bathroom. The hiss of running taps reached Dean's ears as he picked up the towel that lay half-off the bed and dabbed gingerly at Sam's chest. His other hand moved upwards and passed gently over his brother's face. He paused, frowning. Sam was running a fever. Dean swore again under his breath and pushed Sam's hair back off his face.

"You hold on, Sammy," he murmured. "I'm right here. I gotcha."

Castiel reappeared at his side, holding a plastic tub filled with water in both hands. Dean took it from him and put it on the floor beside him. He dipped the towel into it and began to wipe at Sam's skin. He cleared most of the blood off his face quickly enough, but was only met with more bruises. His chest was harder - everytime he got it clean more blood welled up in the wounds and spilled down his skin. Fustration pricking at him, he finally gave in and reached for the first aid kit. He pulled out some alcohol and a cotton swab and began to dab at the lacerations on Sam's chest.

Sam's shallow rasps hitched roughly and his eyes suddenly cracked open, tiny glimmers in black and blue skin. Dean froze and then slowly lifted his hand to place it on the side of Sam's face, stroking the skin gently with his thumb.

"Hey, Sammy, hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

"D-Dean... whu..." Sam blinked slowly, reached out a trembling hand to grip Dean's shirt as if to assure himself that he was real. "D-Demons," he mumbled. "Gotta... le-lea..ve..."

"Not yet, man," Dean replied firmly. "We'll leave in the morning, 'kay?"

Sam gazed at him with eyes glazed with pain. "You... c-came," he whispered.

Dean felt a lump rise in his throat. He forced a smile, nodded. "Course I did, bitch," he said. "Someone's gotta watch your pathetic ass."

The ghost of a smile raced over Sam's face. It was short lived - he spluttered suddenly and blood trickled over his cheek from his lips. Dean swallowed hard, reaching out to wipe it away.

_God, he's in a bad way. Gotta get to Bobby's. Get to a hospital. Do something..._

"How're you doing, man?" Dean asked lightly. "One to ten scale?"

Sam huffed weakly, squeezing his shut, his hand clenching in Dean's shirt. "Uh... s-six."

"Liar. What, then? Seven? Eight?"

Sam's eyes opened and stared straight into Dean's. He didn't need to speak; Dean got it at once.

_Nine. Shit._

"Okay. That's just fine, Sammy. I'm gonna patch you up, okay? Here..." He dug into the kit and pulled out two tylenol and then a bottle of water. He shuffled forwards, slipped a hand behind Sam's shoulders. "Ready, man..." He lifted Sam up a little. His brother gasped, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Dean bit back panic and held out the pills, tipping them between Sam's lips before reaching for the bottle. He flicked the cap off and tilted it into Sam's mouth. Sam swallowed once, then coughed harshly. Blood flecked his lips, and Dean hurriedly pulled the bottle away.

"Okay, man, okay, sorry," he murmured, easing Sam back down onto the bed. "I'm gonna take another look at you now. Just try to sleep, alright?"

Sam didn't answer. Dean glanced up at his brother's face and realized with a jolt that Sam was already out again. He sighed - at least he wouldn't feel the stitches. Dean reached for the first aid kit once more.

* * *

Castiel watched as Dean took the tub from his hands and wet the towel, beginning to wipe at Sam's chest. Sensing he was dismissed, the angel moved away and glanced around the room. He made his way over to the door, locked it with fumbling fingers, glanced back at the Winchesters. Dean was busy with his brother, completely engrossed in his work. Castiel hesitated. Apparently his work was done. He could leave now... he turned and walked slowly over to the window, looking down at the dark street below. The light of dawn was rising above the horizon, sending a soft golden dust into the dark sky. Castiel watched as the sun lifted its blazing head, wondering dimly why he hadn't left yet.

"Hey, Sammy, hey... you okay?"

He glanced up. Dean was bending close to his brother, muttering words of comfort. Sam's eyes were open, his hand reaching blindly for Dean in the way that a child reaches for its parents as it wakes from a nightmare. Castiel watched silently as Dean leant closer to hear Sam's weak, stuttering words. Standing apart from them, watching, Castiel felt an intruder. And... and he'd never felt so alone in his entire life. He had rebelled against his brothers and they had cast him out, merciless, as he'd known they would. He'd lost their love and support within seconds. And now... now Anna was somewhere across the globe, God was MIA, Lucifer was walking free and the apocalypse was looming nearer every day. The Winchesters had each other to rely on.

And, for the first time, Castiel realized that he had no one.

Jimmy? Jimmy would run the first chance he got, that much was clear. Castiel could feel his longing for his family, for his old, peaceful life. As for Sam and Dean... well, how much could they really want him? Dean showed constant exasperation and reluctance whenever Castiel approached him, and Sam was a demon-spawned anti-christ. But... _but he saved my life, _Castiel thought, darting an uncomfortable glance at the younger Winchester. He was coughing on the water Dean was trying to give him, sending blood trickling down his chin. Looking at him now, it was hard to think of him as evil.

Suddenly, Castiel felt exhausted. He slumped down in the chair near the television, ignoring the threatening creak it emitted, and put his head in his hands. When had he become so... so _mortal? _When had he started thinking like those he had been sent to help? He shut his eyes tightly, trying to make his mind blank as snow, a new start to these treacherous thoughts.

_"Castiel."_

_Castiel blinked, and then turned sharply. The wind rushed over him in a wild, primeval roar, sending sparks of excitement down his spine. He allowed his wings to unfurl and stretch wide, revelling in the freedom. He smiled and far away on Earth the sun rose up from behind the clouds. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this, since he had been unconfined..._

_"Its not real."_

_He started. His eyes scanned the blazing white world around him, and showed him nothing. He took a step forwards, his bare feet touching down on a surface that snarled hot and cold at the same time._

_"Show yourself," he said, his natural voice ringing through the air. "Who are you?"_

_A shadow appeared over to his right, blurred, distorted, wings flickering as if in a hurricane. Castiel strode forwards, but the shadow remained unrecognizable. Castiel stopped, anger flickering through his mind._

_"What have you to hide?" he demanded._

_"Only as much as you," the voice replied, bemused. "Or maybe a little more."_

_Castiel raised his wings in warning, arching them high above his head. "Don't play with me," he snarled. "Tell me who you are."_

_The figure remained still, ignoring his anger. "I saved you from those demons. You owe me a favour."_

_"What favour?" Castiel spat. "What favour could I possibly owe to a stranger?"_

_"You know me, Castiel," the figure replied in a soft, laughing voice. "I'm no stranger."_

_Castiel growled low in his throat - thunder snarled overhead and lightning licked the ground. The figure barely even flinched. It spread its wings, turning its head as if hearing something._

_"I have to go. But we must meet."_

_Castiel simply glared at it. He felt its amusement and it sent a second pulse of rage through him, sent lightning snapping at its wings._

_"The Cathedral. You know the one."_

_Castiel wanted to deny it, but his curiosity pricked at him insistently and he found himself agreeing, begrudgingly. "When?"_

_"When you come."_

_Castiel opened his mouth - _and flinched sharply as the dingy motel room leapt back into being around him.

For a few moments he sat motionless, gazing at the floor. He shook himself, ran both hands over his face, tried to ground himself. He hadn't been pulled out of his host like that for a long time, not since Zachariah had cast him out. He felt shaken, his breath hitching in his lungs. He took a few deep breaths, tried to focus on something else. His eyes fell on Dean, who was rising to his feet across the room, tub in hand. He had apparently finished with Sam - the younger Winchester's chest was now wrapped with bandages, and several gauze pads were taped over the deeper wounds on his face. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, although every so often his head twitched slightly. Dean turned and strode towards the bathroom, holding the tub in both hands, the water now a dirty grey-pink from blood and dirt. He stopped as he neared the door and caught sight of Castiel in the chair.

"Oh. You're still here..." He shifted awkwardly, letting go with one hand to wipe quickly at his face. Not quickly enough; Castiel still saw the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Dean cleared his throat. "You alright?"

Castiel jerked his head in a nod. Dean didn't seem to believe him, but let it go. He turned and made his way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Castiel heard the blot draw shut. Dean didn't need to bother - Castiel could still hear him sigh heavily, slump down against the wall, force back a self-loathing sob. He turned his eyes on Sam. He took back what he had thought beforehand: no one was quite as disfunctional as the Winchesters.

_When you come._

He closed his eyes. If only he knew.

**Anyone still game? Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them... just you wait...**

**Thank you for reviewing.**

**So, the big moment, who is the mystery voice? I'm an athiest, so I don't actually know much about the Bible stories. If there's anything wrong in this chapter, sorry! Did my best! Anyway... See what happens...**

**Spolier alert for season 4!!**

* * *

Winchester was a small, quiet city which sat in the South of England. Once it was a capital. Now it only just made the top twenty places to live in Britain. It was a huge stone building, tall and proud, reaching straight up into the golden sky. The light of dawn spun a haze around it, making it almost surreal. To Castiel, the Winchester Cathedral held too many memories, and not enough of them happy ones.

And it just had to be _Winchester_...

Castiel's footsteps echoed softly as he moved through the huge arched doors. Far ahead of him he could see the wooden alter, the pews spread out in neat rows. Two lines of huge stone pillars flanked the pews, still singing with the echoes of orchestras that had played there over the last hundred years. Castiel could hear the thousands of violins mingling together in a whirl of emotion, pulsing through the air from the stone at a frequency human ears would never hear. He paused to listen for a moment, and then pushed the sound away and looked around. No one was here. He sighed heavily and pushed his hands into his pockets, making his way slowly down towards the alter. Autumn leaves blew through the open doors behind him, a meledy of gold, red and brown, chasing each other over the floor and tumbling around his shoes.

Behind the alter a huge wooden wall rose up, decorated with detailed, intricate carvings. Castiel paused at the front of the pews, rolling his eyes over them. So much care had been put into them, and for what? For a god who wasn't even watching for them... who could be gone forever... Castiel turned, looking around the Cathedral. No sign of movement. Maybe he had got the wrong place. Or maybe the voice had just been some hallucination. Castiel slumped down in the front pew, burrying his face in his hands.

He'd left the Winchesters - the boys, not the city - in their motel room a few hours after Dean had finished with Sam. Dean had spent a long time in the bathroom before finally emerging, keeping his face turned away from Castiel to hide the redness of his eyes. He had sat down with his back against the wall beside Sam's bed, reached for his brother's hand, leant his head back against the wall and shut his eyes. After about half an hour he relaxed and dropped away into sleep. By this time the sun was up and glaring determindly through the windows. Castiel had stayed. The demons hadn't returned... yet. But Castiel had no doubt that they would be back, and when they finally did return, Castiel intended to be there. But, as the day had stretched on towards noon, there had been no sign. Eventually, Castiel had given in.

So he'd pulled the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness, slit his palm and painted a ward over the door, taken one final glance back at the sleeping brothers - Dean still gripping Sam's hand, Sam ashen-faced and breathing shallowly - and pulled himself out of the room. He had reached Britain within moments and stopped outside the Cathedral, just in time to watch the dawn rise on the other side of the world.

And he was still alone.

He lifted his head, gazing up at the shifting colours dancing through the stain glass windows at the other end of the building. If only the world was as beautiful. If only everything was as simple.

"If only."

Castiel flinched and turned, scanning the huge hall. Nothing... why couldn't he see anyone? The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a rush of fear suddenly washed over him. He rose slowly to his feet, his jaw clenched tightly. He kept his voice even as he spoke.

"If you've called me here just to waste my time-"

"Of course not. Like I said, we need to talk."

Castiel span around, his skin crawling as the figure appeared in the aisle behind him. His eyes raced up and down the man from his faded jeans to his rough, dusty shirt and jacket before skidding to a halt on his face, staring past the skin. He froze, words shrivelling into nothing on his tongue. The man smiled, his long blonde hair flopping over his forehead as he cocked his head.

"Hello, Castiel."

Castiel stared at him, speechless. The man sighed and turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking lesiurely up the steps to the alter.

"I'm sorry, this must be a terrible shock. I wish I could have told you before, but it wasn't safe. This is the only place we can talk properly." He span gently around, his trainers squeaking lightly on the stone floor, and looked over the stone pillars, his eyes travelling up to the ceiling. "I've always loved this building. You can still hear the music from the last time we were here. Do you remember that?"

Castiel sank down into the pew behind him, struggling to think straight. It was as if seeing him had set off an explosion in the back of his head, jarring his thoughts, rendering him a vegetable. He wet his dry lips, trying to concentrate on something, anything, just to tell himself that he could still think.

"Well, _I _remember. About a hundred years ago, wasn't it? The Christmas service, there was a choir singing. We heard them from all the way up there..." He flicked a finger skywards. "We're not supposed to walk among humans, but I was always the rebellious one, right? Just bad luck for you we ended up friends and I dragged you down with me. We crept in through the side doors, watched from the shadows. Remember the voices? Remember the joy?"

Castiel slowly lifted his eyes to meet his. He swallowed hard, managed to force a few words past his stiff lips.

"Is... Israfel..."

Israfel smiled again, spread his hands slightly. "Yes, Castiel. Its really me."

"But... but you're _dead,_" Castiel mumbled, gazing at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. "I don't understand..."

"You were dead too, weren't you?" Israfel said calmly, moving back down the steps towards him. "You died protecting the Winchesters. But then He brought you back."

"But..."

"He brought me back too, Castiel," Israfel said ernestly, crouching down in front of him as if talking to a small child. "And he gave me a message."

Castiel stared back at him, gripping the pews so tightly that his knuckles turned white. When he spoke his voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. "What message?"

Israfel's eyes glinted silver, his mouth turned into a firm, determind line. "I know," he said quietly. "I know how to kill Lucifer."

He paused, giving Castiel time to process this new information. Castiel shook his head slightly and Israfel shifted forwards, nodding eagerly.

"There's a weapon," he said, his voice low and excited. "There's a weapon that can destroy him, and no one needs to get hurt over it. If we can just get to it, then we can kill Lucifer together."

His words spun a glittering fantasy in Castiel's mind, of the two of them fighting back to back as they once had decades ago. His heart lurched with a sudden hope... but still the back of his neck was prickling uneasily, still he couldn't shake the fear that sat in the bottom of his stomach like a hunk of ice. He pushed both hands through his hair, beginning to collect himself.

"Wait," he said gruffly. "Slow down. What is this weapon?"

For a moment Israfel seemed to hesitated, but then he replied smoothly. "You must know the legends as well as I do. Our father appointed Cherubim to guard the Garden of Eden with a flaming sword. In the great flood the Garden was destroyed, and the sword lost. It has been hidden here on Earth for thousands of years, but I have found it. All I need to do is break the ward around it and we will be able to use it to destroy Lucifer."

Castiel shook his head slowly, running through the information carefully in his mind. Of course he knew of the legends surrounding the great flood, but he didn't know what had happened to the sword afterwards. What Israfel was saying could easily be true, and could be their salvation. He glanced up, frowning.

"But why did He chose you? Why not tell me?"

"I don't know," Israfel replied softly. "I didn't question His orders. I was too thankful."

"But," Castiel persisted. "You saw him? You spoke to him? Then tell me, you must know where he is!"

"I don't," Israfel insisted. "He came to me in a dream. Why are you questioning me? This is everything we have been hoping for and more!" He sniggered suddenly. "You always did think too much, I guess."

Castiel fell silent, pressing his lips together tightly. Israfel was right; this was the thing he had been praying for day and night over the last few months. And yet still he couldn't bring himself to trust one of his oldest friends.

"This is a blessing, Castiel," Israfel said, rising up on his knees and placing both hands on Castiel's shoulders. "This is a miracle. But I cannot fulfil it without you."

Castiel lifted his head slowly, suddenly understanding. "There's something else you need," he said. "What is it?"

Israfel paused. "The ward placed around the Sword must be broken by two humans. Their combined blood is the only thing powerful enough to retrieve the Sword."

"And those two humans," Castiel murmured, "They wouldn't happen to be the vessels of Michael and Lucifer?"

Israfel nodded, gripping Castiel's shoulders. "Yes. We will need the Winchesters. That's why I came to you."

Castiel held his gaze for a few moments, and then looked away. "Alright," he said at last. "I will talk to them."

"Thank you," Israfel breathed, releasing him. "Thank you, Castiel. You may have just saved the world."

Castiel rose to his feet, shifting uncomfortably. "Where should I meet you?"

Israfel stood too, grinning widely. "That depends on you. When you are ready, with the Winchesters, call to me and I'll come."

Castiel rubbed a hand over his eyes, nodding wearily. Before he had even lowered his arm, Israfel had vanished. Castiel looked around, and then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was wonderful, a miracle, like Israfel had said.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

* * *

By the time he returned to the motel it was past midday and Dean was gone. Sam was sitting up in bed, propped against a bundle of pillows, squinting blearily at the television across the room which was playing some reality show. He flinched as Castiel appeared in the middle of the room and gasped in pain, wrapping his arm around his stomach.

"_Ow... _uh, hey, Cas."

Castiel glanced around for Dean, his eyes flickering to the open bathroom door. "Where's Dean?"

"He's gone out to get some more painkillers," Sam replied.

His voice still sounded weak and rasping, but at least he could now get a sentence out in one go. His face was pale, marked with purple and red and dark hollows where his eyes were, and Castiel doubted that the man could even stand without assistance. Still, he clawed himself a little further upright and faced Castiel, hiding his pain as best he could. Castiel fidgetted uncomfortably with his coat, casting his eyes once more around the room. He would prefer to talk to the bothers together. He cleared his throat.

"How are you?"

Sam forced a smile. "I'll live, thanks to you."

"So you remember." It was more of a curse than a relief. To be honest, Castiel would rather Sam had no idea what had happened and believed that it was his brother who had saved him. At least that way things wouldn't feel quite so awkward. An angel saving a demon-infected anti-christ. How much further past the line could Castiel go?

"Bits," Sam replied. "Dean filled me in." He paused. "Listen, Castiel, I know I'm not really your favourite person-"

Castiel's eyebrow twitched.

"-but I just wanted to say thank you for doing what you did. I mean, I owe you one." He snorted, wincing. "Small words to say to the guy who rescued you from a bloodthirsty pack of demons, huh?"

"No. I understand." Castiel hesitated. "You're welcome."

Sam smiled, his gratitude shining from his face. His expression reminded Castiel of the first time they had met, when Sam had eagerly extended his hand, stumbling over his words, practically radiatting excitement and hope. _Well, we well and truly beat that out of him, _Castiel thought sourly. Everything he and the rest of the angels had touched had gone from bad to worse. He made his way over to the chair across the room and sat down heavily in it, linking his hands together and placing his elbows on his knees. Sam's eyes remained on him, the babble of the tv quiet in the background.

"You okay?"

Castiel huffed, a humourless smile flickering across his face. And yet, somehow, he found himself answering.

"I am confused."

"About what?"

"I have... _had... _a brother called Israfel. We were very close, but he died a long time ago."

The words rushed from his mouth, unstoppable. They sent iching embarrassment down his spine, disgust at himself that he was about to open up to the anti-christ. It was just ridiculous, and yet as Sam replied he felt himself begin to relax.

"I'm sorry. How did he die?"

"He lusted after a human. Uriel killed him for his sins."

"Oh."

He could hear the shock in Sam's voice, the horror that the other man was trying hard to cover. He glanced up.

"It was forbidden," he explained. "You must understand. To have those thoughts for one of our Father's creations... it was punishable either by death or by hell. Uriel was kind to kill him, to save him from that place."

Sam was clearly struggling to accept this, Castiel could see it in the changing emotions flicking across his face. When he spoke, however, he still managed to keep his voice steady.

"But, if you're at peace with that, then what's wrong?"

"He returned to me just now and told me that the Lord had brought him back to give us a message."

"What message?"

"I would prefer to tell you and Dean together."

Sam nodded, falling silent as if scared of upsetting the angel. Castiel sighed and kneaded his forehead with the heels of his hands.

"But... when I met with him, everything seemed _different. _He just seemed wrong..." He glanced up at Sam's serious, thoughtful frown. "It doesn't matter. You would not understand."

"Probably not." Sam watched him for a moment. "But... has he ever given you reason not to trust him?"

Castiel shook his head. "I was closer to him than to any of my brothers. His death was devastating, despite his crimes. He was always true to me. But when I looked at him today, it was as if I was looking at a mask. Nothing more, and nothing less."

"Maybe its just because you haven't seen each other for a long time," Sam suggested. "Its bound to feel weird when someone you think is dead suddenly turns up at your door. Believe me, I should know."

"Maybe." There was a tinny scream from the television, and Castiel glanced up. He frowned. "Is that woman in pain?"

Sam smirked. "Ah, no. She's just discovered that the dress she bought for junior prom is two sizes too big for her, because she's been dietting all term, and now she's having a breakdown because she isn't sure if her boyfriend really loves her or not."

Castiel shot him a raised eyebrow. "I will _never _understand that story," he muttered.

Sam grinned. "Yeah, you and me both."

Castiel let out a short laugh. Sam laughed too, but then winced and quickly stopped. As he opened his mouth to speak the door to the motel flew open. Castiel leapt to his feet and Sam's arm flew out towards the rifle lying on the bedside table.

Dean glanced from one to the other, the hot dog hanging out of his mouth comically innocent as he kicked the door shut behind him. He took the hotdog from his mouth, raising his hands.

"Jeez, you want my brains now or later?"

His brother smiled and let the rifle fall, relaxing once more. "Sorry, man. You did tell me to stay alert."

"Yeah, alert, not wildly paranoid." Dean looked over at Castiel as he moved to Sam's side, digging into the bag as he went. "Hey, Cas. Missing me too much? Just can't stay away these days, can you?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "My name is _Castiel," _he corrected. "And I have news."

Dean pulled out a box of pills which he passed Sam and then sat down on the edge of the bed. He took up his hot dog again and stuffed it into his mouth as Sam eagerly gulped down the pills.

"Yeah well, unless that news is that the apocalypse just took a rain check until the next millenia, I don't think this is really the time for another crazed angel crusade," Dean mumbled, spraying crumbs across the room.

Castiel moved forwards to stand at the end of the bed, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

"I have a brother," he said steadily, "Who believes he has found a way to destroy Lucifer."

Both Winchesters looked up sharply, then at each other, and then once more at Castiel. Dean gulped down the hot dog and lowered his food.

"We're listening," Sam said.

* * *

Israfel appeared abrutply in the middle of a huge iron warehouse in Illinois, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His face bore a cold, dead resignation as he stepped forwards, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"You're a monster," he muttered.

"Watch those manners," the other man replied from his seated position on top one of the several large crates on the other side of the building. "Don't you forget what I can do."

Israfel's eyes darkened angrily, but he kept his tone civil as he answered. "I haven't. I did as you said."

"Yes I know, I was watching," he replied. "You're a good liar."

"Almost as good as you."

"Come, come, Israfel! If this is going to be plesant, you must keep that sharp tongue behind your teeth."

Israfel swallowed hard, taking a step closer. Anxiety clouded his anger, and as he spoke his voice shook slightly. "You... you won't hurt them, will you?"

The man returned his gaze with icy precision. "Only if they don't co-operate."

Israfel opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it. They both knew that there was nothing more to say.

**Whew, long chapter!! Hope everyone liked it, I know the dreaded OCs can sometimes destroy a story... please REVIEW!**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Still don't own them... just you wait...**

**Reviews make my day!!**

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Dean said, pacing up and down the cramped motel room. He stabbed the hot dog into the air, crumbs spiralling down to the ground like mini missiles. "Your risen-from-the-dead buddy Isaac has discovered a flaming sword-"

"Israfel," Sam corrected.

"-which belonged to some guy called Cherub who guarded the gates of heaven-"

"Cherub_im."_

"-and which can fell mighty hell-raising Lucifer with a few flicks of the wrist?" Dean finished, completely ignoring Sam's inputs.

Castiel nodded, silent and sullen. Sam was still watching him curiously, his brow furrowed. Dean glanced between them and then took a bite from his hot dog.

"And all he needs us to do," he continued, his voice muffled by the roll, "Is slap a bit of blood on a ward so that he can get it out of hibernation?"

Castiel nodded again. Dean snorted, spreading his hands.

"Okay, to me this all sounds pretty good, so what's wrong with you two?"

"I don't know," Castiel muttered.

"Super," Dean rolled his eyes and turned to his brother. "And you, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. His voice was slurred with painkillers as he spoke. "Wellif Castiel n't happy about it, then maybe... I dunno."

Dean's eyes turned skywards once more. "Dude, listen to yourself, you sound wasted... know what? You don't get a say in this."

Sam opened his mouth furiously but Dean waved his brothers words away and moved towards Castiel.

"Well _why _don't you trust him? Did he say he didn't like your hair or something? Insult Girls Aloud within earshot? You can't ditch a guy every time he puts down your favourite girl band, Cas, or you'll never get anywhere."

Castiel didn't even know who Girls Aloud was, but he decided to ignore Dean's remarks all the same. He linked his fingers together, rested his chin on them, thought hard.

"I don't know what it was exactly. Its just that when he spoke, I felt as if the words were not his own. As if he was just..." He paused, searching for the expression he had heard Sam use sometime before. "Just smoke and mirrors," he finished finally. "A lie."

"Well, Cas, no offence but if this is between your freaky bad vibes and a chance to end the apocalypse, I'll take the zombie angel," Dean said flatly, folding his arms. "We can't just throw away opportunites like this. Especially not now."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, taking a sip of water. "Isn't it worth t'risk? We'll be prepared anyway, 'nd we've got you -" he nodded to Castiel "- ah mean, how powerful is he?"

"Israfel?" Castiel glanced over at Sam. "No more powerful than me. But that was before he was raised from the dead by our Father-"

"If s'what really happened," Sam said softly.

Castiel held his gaze, his head jerking in a small nod. Dean threw up his hands.

"I don't believe you," he cried. "You said it yourself when we first met, Cas - good things _do _happen. What if this is just our luck changing? Why do we always have to question everything?"

"Because Winchesters just don't get this lucky."

Dean scowled at his brother. "Fine. Then we won't go. Is that what you want?"

Sam glanced back at Castiel, hesitating. Castiel raised and lowered one shoulder, pushing the decision back to him. He didn't know what to do. Israfel just seemed so very different, and yet there could be a thousand different explainations for that. Sam wet his lips and then nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"We'll go," he said. "We can't afford to pass this up."

"Exactly," Dean replied. "We can't."

_And Israfel knows that... _Castiel shuddered as the thought peirced his mind and tried to focus on something else. His eyes drifted to the window, to the street beyond, to the ordinary people living their ordinary lives. He wondered what it would be like to be human, to feel so many emotions all at once as they did. He dimly realized that Dean was speaking and clawed his attention back to the hunter, blinking hard.

"... possible. Where did he say to meet, Cas?"

"He asked me to call him when we were ready."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Sam, how're you doing over there?"

Castiel glanced at Sam, whose head had been gradually dropping towards his shoulder. He flinched upright, hissing through his teeth as he jarred his injured side.

"M'okay," he mumbled.

A half exasperated, half loving expression darted across Dean's face. He moved over to Sam, leant against the wall beside his bed.

"How long do you think you'll need to get over those?" he asked, nodding at his bandages.

"Dunno," Sam said. "I got painkillers... another day?"

"Make it three," Dean replied, and then as Sam opened his mouth to argue, "The apocalypse isn't here just yet, and I need you sharp to watch my back."

Sam sighed at the over-used excuse but nodded anyway. Dean turned to Castiel.

"Then that's settled," he said. "We'll meet in three days, and we'll talk to him together. Clear?"

Castiel closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that they were going to go through with it. He nodded slowly.

"Very well," he murmured.

He stood up, turned towards the window. For the first time, he hesitated. He felt so lost and alone - all he wanted was to stay here with them. He wanted to stay with people who would listen to him talk about nothing. But what would he be worth here? The Winchesters didn't need him hanging around the place. He pressed his lips together, clenched his fists. Just go. Time to leave. Just _leave!_

"Hey, Cas?" Sam called, pushing himself up a little further. "D'you wanna stick around here for a while longer?"

Castiel stiffened. Then he gave a short, curt nod. "No, thank you," he said stiffly. "Its time for me to go." He glanced back at the two of them. "In three days, then."

"Wait!"

Dean moved over to his duffel bag and rooted around in it for a few moments before coming up with a slender mobile. He tossed it to Castiel.

"Since yours is broken," he said. "Need to call you somehow, right?"

Castiel nodded once more. Then without saying another word he threw himself forwards and vanished into the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

Three days later found Castiel standing in the dingy backstreets of the labyrinth of alleyways behind the mass of pubs and bars and strip clubs at the bottom of the city. Rain spat from the sky in irregular intervals, threatening a downpour, and the sky heaved and rolled with huge grey thunderclouds. Thunder growled and roared like a monster prowling the shadows, ready to pounce at any moment.

Castiel heard the Impala coming before it had even reached the block. He cocked his head, then turned and strode for the mouth of the nearest alleyway, moving around the huge dumpsters and pools of god-knew-what on the ground, rats scuttling for cover at the sound of his approach. He reached the mouth of the alleyway but remained in the shadows, watching in silence as the Impala parked on the other side of the road. Sam and Dean climbed out, walked in perfect unison around to the back of the car to open the trunk. Castiel waited while they chose their weapons before offering a small mental prod. Sam felt it first, glanced up shortly. Castiel allowed their eyes to meet before stepping back into the alleyway.

In only a few minutes Sam and Dean were moving into the darkness before him, shivering and pulling their jackets closer about them as the rain began to patter in heavier drops.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, offering a smile.

Castiel nodded to him, casting his gaze up and down the tall, lanky figure. Sam was looking considerably better than he had the last time Castiel had seen him - his face was no longer deathly pale and he was standing up without needing to hold his side or lean on something for support. Still, Castiel didn't doubt that he wasn't on a lot of painkillers to keep himself upright.

"Jeez, nice place," Dean muttered.

"This was your suggestion," Castiel reminded him, frowning.

"Yeah, well, I was picturing the _other _side," Dean replied, flicking his eyes towards the red light glaring over the murkey alleyways. Sam sighed loudly and Dean cleared his throat, shrugging. "S'been a hard week, I deserve a little fun!"

"Later," Castiel said, restraining the urge to lecture Dean on the many inappropriate sentences passing his tongue. "I haven't contacted Israfel yet. I feel I should call him alone, and then bring him to meet you."

"So you got us standing out in the rain for nothing?"

"Sure," Sam said, elbowing Dean hard. "We'll wait here. You sure you're okay with this?"

Castiel returned his gaze as steadily as he could. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "I'll be back soon."

He turned and walked away with long strides, moving quickly into the maze of dark brick walls. He turned a good number of corners before stopping, so many that he was almost unsure himself of where he had left the boys. Almost. He took a deep breath, his cold hands curling into the long sleeves of his coat.

"_Israfel,"_ he whispered.

The other angel answered at once. There was a rush of wind, a spray of icy rain, and then Israfel appeared in the alleyway before him, a huge grin plastered over his face.

"Thank you, Castiel," he said. "I always knew I could trust you."

Castiel felt himself relax slightly, felt a smile spread over his own face. "We're brothers," he replied. "Who can we trust if not each other?"

Something glinted in Israfel's eyes for a moment, but then he grinned again and it was gone. He looked around. "Where are the Winchesters? I'm eager to meet them."

Castiel pushed away the foreboding edge creeping into his mind and nodded. He jerked his head back the way he had come, beginning to walk once more.

"This way."

Israfel pushed his hands into his pockets and followed, falling into step beside him. "I'm so glad you agreed to do this, Castiel. It means so much to me - to the world - that we'll be able to see Lucifer go down together."

"Yes," Castiel said. "This is how it should be..."

He broke off as a clatter errupted from a doorway nearby - a cat was running out onto the street. Israfel turned his head to look, frowning... and the burning red light from the bars behind them fell on his neck, clearly illuminating the symbol that was burned into his skin. A circle with a line cutting it once, stretching from centre to the outside.

_Binding link._

Castiel's heart froze in his chest. Israfel had a binding link burned into his skin. Israfel was _trapped _inside his own vessel. And no angel would ever trap themselves, which meant that someone else must have done it...

It was as if a light had been switched on in Castiel's brain, showing his 'if's and 'but's in all their glory. As if he had been blindfolded up until now, he suddenly saw everything with absolute clarity. He could sense the dark figures moving noiselessly across the rooftops around them, flanking them, sense the shadows in the darkness. And he knew, beyond all doubt, that Israfel had betrayed him. Betrayed him to get to...

_Winchesters. Sam and Dean._

Israfel finally noticed that Castiel had stopped walking. He turned, slowing to a halt.

"Castiel? Come on, we should move quickly."

Castiel stared back into the cool, grey eyes and felt a flash of anger. Israfel cocked his head, stepping forwards.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. I told them to meet me right here." The lie flowed from his lips so easily that it almost scared him, and yet he still kept his face expressionless. He frowned. "I don't understand..."

Israfel's eyes darted up towards the roof, flashed a message. He glanced back at Castiel, clearly confused. Castiel smiled.

"I'll call them."

He pulled out his mobile, pressed speedial, lifted it to his ear. It rang twice before the other end picked up.

"Hello? Cas?" Sam asked.

Castiel moved too fast to think about what he was doing. He thrust out his hand, sending a bolt of force straight into Israfel. As the other angel tumbled over backwards Castiel swung his hand upwards and the flashing lights overhead exploded into a shower of sparks and snapping electricity. The shadows on the roof flinched back, shouting out to one another in fear, Israfel called his name, but Castiel ignored them. He turned on his heel and sprinted for the nearest corner, ducking around it and out of sight as fast as he could.

Sam was shouting into the mobile, panicked. "Castiel! What's happening? Cas, can you hear me?"

"Yes!" Castiel hissed, sprinting down the alleyway and turning another corner, twisting and turning as much as he could. "You have to leave, right now."

"What? Why?"

"Israfel betrayed us and there's someone after you," Castiel said rapidly. "You must leave!"

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine," Castiel insisted. "Now go."

"But-"

"I said, _go!_"

He allowed a little of his true voice into his last order, and Sam hung up at once. Castiel felt a small rush of relief until two hands came down on his shoulders from behind. He twisted around, kicking wildly with one leg, and caught the suited assilant in the stomach. The other man staggered. Before he could recover, Castiel swung his fist upwards, connecting sharply with the man's eye. The man stumbled away. Castiel turned, sensing another approaching from his other side-

It hit him at an impossible speed, spearing straight through his shoulder and sending pain roaring through him. Castiel let out a yell and fell to his knees, shocked at the raw agony he felt. He was not supposed to feel the pain of his host. He looked down. A thin metal rod, about fiffteen inches in length was burried deeply in his shoulder, its tip filed to a sharp, lethal point. Complex, intricate symbols were carved down its length. Castiel stared at it in surprise.

"That was a _warning, _Castiel, the next one will go straight through your heart. And believe me, that will hurt a lot more."

The voice echoed through the alleyway as steady, sharp footsteps moved closer. Castiel had recognized him before he had even looked up.

"Zachariah," he said, his voice shaking.

Zachariah smiled at him, tugging his collar straight. "Its been a while, hasn't it? I saw Dean not long ago, and I was trying to have a nice, polite conversation with him until he suddenly vanished..." His smile became icy cold within a single second. He gestured to the angel to his right, who was holding a slender crossbow from which the rod seemed to have come. "Now, I would like to know where he and his demon-blooded brother are."

Castiel hand managed to lift his hand and wrap it around the end of the rod. He pulled sharply, and almost passed out from the wave of pain that washed over him. He gasped, black dots dancing before his eyes. Never in his life had he felt such blinding agony before... he choked in a few gulps of air, closed his fist around the end of the arrow once more, pulled. He let out a short scream of pain as the weapon slipped out of his flesh, sending jolts of lightning through his blood. A sour taste rushed into his mouth and he coughed wetly, blood dripping from his lips to the wet ground. He looked up at Zachariah and his eyes darkened as Israfel appeared behind him. The other angel had blood running from a gash at his hairline, and his eyes were wide and panicked. Zachariah shot him a grin before returning his gaze to Castiel.

"Come on, now. We don't have all night." He took a step forwards. "Where a_re _they?"

"I don't know," Castiel growled, gasps ripping in and out of his torn chest. "They ran..."

"Tell us, Castiel, or your life will suddenly become far, far more painful than you can ever imagine."

Castiel glared at him, and then shifted his gaze sideways to meet Israfel's. The sting of betryal hit him again, and his jaw clenched with rage. "Israfel... how could-"

"We will all do whatever it takes to get our way," Zachariah snapped coldly, his patience clearly breaking. "You know that. Now tell us!"

"I don't kn-"

_Bang!_

A second rod plundged straight into the centre of his chest and he flew backwards, slammed hard into the wall behind him. Pain raked its claws through him and his scream crumbled to a low moan as he slumped back against the wet bricks. The light spatter of rain had quickly become a torrentural downpour and he was already soaked, blood running into his shirt like ink. His body jerked and twitched as he lifted a hand to the rod, panting through clenched teeth, agony nearly blotting out every thought in his mind. He heard Zachariah's footsteps moving closer and looked up, blood trailing down his chin as he met the gaze of the other angel.

"I've tried playing nice with the Winchesters," Zachariah said, pulling his cuffs into place as he spoke. "Its time we take off the kid gloves. You _will _tell us, Castiel. You will."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. Then, before he could think better of it, he spat onto Zachariah's tailored pinstripped suit and rasped through his shaking voice, "Go to hell."

Zachariah's smile vanished, and Castiel grinned in the small triumph. His victory was short - before he could suck in another breath, Zachariah's fist had come down across his face. He felt warm blood burst from his nose, and then everything went pitch black.

**Another chapter up! Anybody still interested in this story? Please REVIEW!**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Eric Kripe owns them, not me!**

**Thank you for reviewing!**

**Warning: this chapter has some torture in it, so just be aware!**

**Plus have no idea whether the lore in this chapter is right or not, so please just bear with me!**

* * *

"Try him again."

"What good will that do?"

"I don't know, just do it!"

"We've tried at least ten times now, Dean, he's not picking up."

"What did he say, exactly? What did he tell you?"

"For the last time, he said Israfel betrayed us, there's someone coming, we have to run. That's it."

"There must have been _something _more-"

"There's _nothing!_" Sam slammed his fist down on the wall of the alleyway with a sharp _bang_. "There is _nothing _we can find in what just happened, we have to do something now!"

"And what would you suggest?" Dean demanded, raising his voice to Sam's volume. "We don't know where Cas is, what happened, who Israfel betrayed us to or freakin' anything for that matter! If you have some magical plan up your sleeve, believe me, this is the time to use it!"

Sam scowled, turned his face away. They began to move again, picking their way through the dull alleyways in silence. After a few minutes, Sam reached for his mobile again. Dean snorted, but Sam simply ignored him. He dialled Castiel's number and put the mobile to his ear. It rang for a few tense minutes and then went to voicemail, a smooth computerised voice telling him to leave a message. Sam threw the mobile back into his pocket, letting out a groan of fustration.

They had been combing the alleyways now for half an hour, wandering through the maze of thin, narrow pathways, and had found nothing. Five hours ago Castiel had called telling them to run, and they had. They had sprinted for the Impala and driven to the edge of the city and waited. Castiel didn't answer his mobile, or their shouts, and finally Sam and Dean had ventured back in to look for him. And had found... diddly squat.

"This is pathetic," Sam muttered, finally coming to a halt in the centre of an alleyway. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Maybe we're just making a big deal out of nothing," Dean suggested, moving back towards him. "I mean, Cas is his own guy, right? Maybe he just wanted some space."

"You really believe that?"

"I will if you will."

Sam rolled his eyes. He looked around the alleyway they were standing in once more, sighing heavily. He felt useless, and he hated it. If Castiel would just pick up his god-damned mobile...

"There's nothing we can do but keep looking," Dean replied. "You know I'm already trying to track his phone. There's nothing else we can do."

Sam muttered a curse. Dean turned and walked away, heading towards a corner which swerved around to the left. His boot clattered on something and he scuffed it away, grimacing at the idea of some cracked beer can spilling old alcohol over his jeans. Gross...

"Dean!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder. Sam was striding forwards, his eyes on the ground. He dropped down on his knees and Dean stepped backwards, his eyes widening as he realized what it was he had stepped on.

A thin metal rod, sharpened to a point at one end and covered in thick, cold blood.

Sam picked it up carefully, holding it with only his thumb and forefinger, trying to avoid the blood covering it. He turned it over, studying it cautiously as Dean crouched down opposite him. His brother looked down at the blood mingling with the muddy puddles, running down over the greasy street. Sam squinted at the symbols running down the length of the rod. He looked up at Dean, who met his gaze with an arched eyebrow.

"This is definately supernatural," Sam said, holding the rod out for him to see. "Just look at those."

Dean frowned as he ran his eyes over the symbols. "I'll say," he muttered. "Can you read them?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "These are old, they're like... like the symbols on the wards Castiel paints..." His eyes widened slightly and he glanced up at Dean. "You don't think...?"

"Angel on angel fight?" Dean asked. "You think Israfel was answering to other angels?"

"Angels we're familiar with, I'll bet," Sam said grimly.

Dean's gaze moved down to the bloody puddles and he swallowed hard. "Jesus, I hope all this didn't come outta Cas."

Sam turned, following the red trail along the ground. His eyes lifted to the wall to his right, where a great dark red smear marred the wall. He swallowed hard.

"Yeah, me too." He rose to his feet, stowing the rod carefully away within his jacket. "I'll call Bobby, maybe he'll be able to decipher these."

"Right," Dean murmured. "Just be quick about it. This just feels all wrong. For all we know, we could already be too late."

* * *

"When Icarus flew into the sky, his father warned him not to go to close to the sun, or the sea. But when Icarus flew, he was overcome by a rush of euphoria. He flew too high, too fast, too wild and the sun melted the wax of his makeshift wings. And so Icarus fell..." Zachariah rose to his feet, flicking the childrens book over in his hands. He laughed softly, shaking his head, the sound echoing around the huge warehouse. "Pretty smart for a kids book, hmm? Icarus wanted to be something he wasn't. He got lost in the joy of the world of pretend. And he killed himself." He turned towards the centre of the warehouse, tossing the book over his shoulder. "Sound familiar? Sound nice?"

He flicked his wrist and Castiel screamed as his right arm cracked loudly, pain leaping down the limb in a burning rip. A smile slid over Zachariah's face as the other angel, Kushiel, moved forwards until his face was just inches from Castiel's. A single, 'n' shaped bar ran up from the ground on Castiel's left, over his head and down again to his right, his wrists secured tightly to the horizontal bar over his head with thin, strong chains. They had taken his shirt and coat - the matireal lay crumpled in a corner behind him - but the metal rod was still stuck securely in his chest. Kushiel leant forwards and Castiel strained to pull away, hissing with pain as the chains dug into his wrists, tearing mercilessly at his skin.

"Well, how do you like it now, Castiel?" Zachariah asked, sitting down on one of the wooden crates lying about the huge building as Kushiel trailed a finger across their prisoner's stomach. "Do you like suffering like them?"

Castiel's clenched jaw couldn't hold back the yell that strained to pass his teeth as a deep wound followed the track of Kushiel's finger, dripping scarlet blood. Kushiel pulled his hand back and then hit him hard in the face, adding to the bruises that were already darkening on Castiel's cheek and jaw. He grabbed the angel by the throat and pulled him forwards, snarling through his smirk.

"You must ask yourself, Castiel, what are you _doing_? All this for a bunch of humans? Is it _worth_ it?"

Kushiel's hand closed over the metal rod and twisted it sharply, earning another scream.

"Is this what you've given your life for? Do you think they're even looking for you?"

Castiel's world swam before his eyes and then tilted sharply. Just as the darkness began to swarm in on him, Kushiel released him and he fell away, gasping roughly, blood running thickly from the corner of his mouth. He could feel sweat standing out on his skin, icy and clammy, warm blood running beside it as a startling contrast. His very skull felt as if it were throbbing wildly, as if it was trying to squeeze his brain out of his ears. He needed air, and yet when he breathed he was greeted with pain so intense that he thought his chest would explode. He couldn't feel his fingers. He couldn't feel his damned _mind..._

"Castiel." Zachariah spread his hands, cocking his head slightly. "Just tell me where the Winchester brothers are, and we will all welcome you back."

He stared back at Zachariah, his eyes mustering up all the hatred that his bruised face could not. "No," he said, his voice trembling with pain.

Zachariah sighed heavily, pushing his hands into his pockets. "I don't want to kill you, Castiel, but don't think that I won't if you refuse to give me what I want. You know I can do it."

Castiel shut his eyes tightly, trying to blank it all out. He felt Kushiel's hand sliding up his neck to fist tightly in his hair, wrenching his head back sharply. He bit back a yelp, cracked his eyes open to stare up into the angel's face.

"Tell me where the Winchesters are," Zachariah's voice said calmly.

"Nu-"

Castiel broke off with a sharp grunt of pain as Kushiel's fist slammed into his ribs, once, twice, three times.

"Tell me _now, _Castiel."

Castiel clenched his teeth together, tried to brace himself, but still a scream burst from his lips as Kushiel drew another three gashes across his chest, digging his nails in hard. He tried to relax, tried to breathe evenly but it hurt too much, he couldn't even think.

"Where are they?"

"N-No..."

A blow hard and sharp as a lead pipe came down on the back of his leg, cutting deep into the inside of his knee and dragging him downwards. His arms seared wildly and he tried to regain his balance, but his legs would no longer support him. Kushiel lifted his fist once more and Castiel shut his eyes, once more trying to prepare himself for the pain...

_"Stop it!"_

The angelic voice shrieked through the building, making them all flinch. Zachariah sighed dramatically and flicked a hand at Kushiel, sending the angel away. Kushiel stretched his arms and wandered away towards the shadows at the end of the warehouse. Zachariah jerked his head at Israfel, who had appeared to his left and was standing rigid, shaking.

"You said you wouldn't harm them!"

"If they co-operated," Zachariah replied, straightening his tie. "Castiel is not making this very easy for us."

"But you'll kill him if you go on like this!"

"That was actually the point," Kushiel muttered.

Israfel shot him a glare before turning again to Zachariah. "Please. There must be some other way to find them."

"We can't because Castiel here has given them protection."

"But you _can't-"_

"Don't forget what I've done for you, Israfel!" Zachariah snapped, his voice suddenly sharp as a blade. "Don't forget what I can _still _do."

Israfel stood motionless, pressing his lips tightly together. He took in a deep breath, lowered his voice. Castiel almost didn't hear what he next said through the pounding in his head.

"Please, just let me talk to him for a bit. Just for a bit. Please."

Zachariah waved a hand at Castiel, rising and striding off towards Kushiel as he did so. Israfel let out a relieved sigh and then turned and headed towards Castiel. Castiel tried to lift himself once more, but again his leg gave out and he slumped back down, jarring his broken arm and sending agony rushing through him. He had no screams left - a moan was the only thing that escaped his lips. Israfel hung back for a moment, but then stepped forwards and wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist, lifting him up slightly to take the weight off his arms. Castiel shut his eyes, refusing to look at the traitor.

"Let go of me, Israfel," he mumbled through the blood in his mouth. "I have nothing to say to you."

"I want you to know," Israfel replied, keeping his voice quiet, "That I had no choice in this. I never would have done this to you if-"

"We always have choices," Castiel replied stonily. "Always."

"They sent me to hell."

Castiel opened his eyes slowly, turned his head to look at the other angel. In Israfel's gaze he saw nothing but honesty. "I thought... thought you died."

Israfel shrugged one shoulder. "Almost," he muttered. "They sent me down as my punishment, for lusting after humans. A few days ago they pulled me out, told me that if I helped them I would never have to go back..." His voice trailed off. He shook his head, trying to start again. "Listen, Castiel, you don't know what it was like. It was... worse than anything. I had to get out. They bound me to this body. I can't go anywhere without them knowing."

Castiel shook his head slowly, ignoring the agony it caused. "I'm sorry."

"Its alright. They said if I follow their orders long enough they'll let me-"

"No." Castiel could feel his own blood soaking into his trousers from his stomach, running down the matireal and pooling on the floor. Every beat of his heart brought pain and rage. "No... I'm sorry. Zachariah may be right, I may be too much like humans." He caught Israfel's gaze, his eyes smouldering with anger. "Because I cannot forgive you."

Israfel stared at him, stunned into silence. Castiel pulled away as much as he could, and Israfel blankly let go, taking a step backwards. Then he seemed to collect himself, shaking himself slightly.

"Please, Castiel, just tell them where the Winchesters are. Please."

Castiel fixed his eyes on the floor, his mouth set in a firm line. He had already made his choice. He had already chosen his own fate.

"No."

* * *

"Finally, Bobby, tell me you've got something," Sam said, leaning back against the glossy flank of the Impala.

From within he could hear the steady tapping of Dean still trying to track Castiel's mobile on Sam's laptop. They were parked just around the corner from a small collection of houses, and were piggybacking on the best wireless network they could find: it was too dangerous to go back to the motel now. Sam didn't for a second believe that Castiel would tell anyone anything of where they were, but they had to play it safe. And so, twenty four hours since they had lost Castiel in the alleyways, Dean was still searching for a mobile signal and Bobby had finally - _finally - _called back.

"I got something," the older hunter replied. "Judging by the photos you sent, the symbols on that rod have been used on angelic wards for thousands of years. Its vauge, but I'm pretty sure that its a form of binding."

"Binding?"

"It drains their imortality. Basically, you hit an angel with one of these and they start feeling the bullets you fire. Hit an angel with one and you can kill it."

"Shit," Sam muttered. "So... so Castiel could be dead."

"I don't think so. Whoever wants him obviously wants to know something, and so they'll keep him alive until he talks."

"Yeah, well, that's not exactly a comforting thought."

"You boys do know who it is you're probably dealing with here? I mean, those kind of binding weapons can only be made by powerful archangels."

"I know," Sam replied. "Its almost definately Zachariah."

Bobby paused, clearly worried. "And Zachariah is way more than you can handle."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter. Castiel saved my neck barely a week ago. I'm gonna help him if it kills me."

"Make sure it doesn't."

"Yeah, right," Sam said. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby just snorted and then hung up. Sam turned and slipped back into the car, looking over at Dean. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean waved him away.

"Shut up. Don't say a word..." He tapped at the mouse, squinted at the screen and then punched a hand into the air. "Yes! Sammy, I'm awesome!"

"What?"

"Took me a hell of a long time but I did it. They were blocking the signal, probably scrambling it with their freaky angel mojo... doesn't matter. I've got a signal from Cas's mobile."

Sam's heart leapt. "Seriously? Where is he?"

Dean looked back at the screen and his smile faded. "Missouri. There's a company building a selection of warehouses, not finished yet. He's there."

"Missouri...?" Sam stared at him, mouth open. "But... it'll take us at least eight hours to get there!"

"Yeah." Dean closed the laptop, pushed it into the duffel bag on the back seat. "We gotta get moving."

Sam slouched down in his seat, pressing both hands over his face. "Damn..."

Dean kicked the Impala into life and veered out from the curb, speeding towards the highway as fast as he could.

**Thanks again for reviewing! Please review! Unless people have got bored in which case I'll quit while I'm ahead... or midway... or whatever. :D**

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	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Eric Kripe owns them, not me!**

**Thank you for reviewing!**

**Torture continues, just be aware!**

* * *

_"_Wake up_."_

Castiel winced as his mind surged back towards consciousness, bringing with it the stings and stabs and throbs of pain. He tried to bury himself in the darkness again before he could reach a level any more aware, but already he could feel the chains around his wrists, which had by now rubbed his skin raw and tender, the tight straining of his arms and shoulders, the agony all through the rest of him that he didn't want to comprehend. If he could just block it all out then maybe he could retreat once more to that place where he could no longer feel anything at all...

"I said, _wake up."_

A jolt ran through him as another being reached striaght into his mind and jerked him back, cold and razor sharp. Castiel flinched, moaning as his eyes flickered open. The world swam before his eyes, blurred and dark. With an effort that made him feel dizzy and sick, Castiel lifted his head. Zachariah stood before him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

"Always pushing me to such lengths," he scolded, shaking his head. "And needlessly, too."

Castiel blinked at him wearily. He couldn't remember whether he had fallen asleep or passed out, or why. Everything hurt, everything throbbed and seared as he pulled shallow, uneven breaths in and out. Zachariah stepped closer, tutting softly.

"You know how much I hate to do this," he said. "You know how I hate to cause my brothers pain. But you have brought this on yourself. Just tell me where they are, and I'll release you at once."

Castiel felt a small, slightly delerious laugh burst past his lips. Zachariah put on a fake, inquisitve expression, calmly raising his eyebrows, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"I'd love to know what you have to laugh about, Castiel, I truly would."

"You... do not... understand," Castiel breathed, his voice rasping from the screams. "Even if... I could br-bring them here, I wouldn't. And th-they won't c-come for me. Why should they?" He fixed his gaze on the floor. "You're w-wasting your t-time. I-It'll... never happen."

Zachariah's mouth quirked in a smile. "Well, you're quite wrong there. If there's one thing I know about the Winchesters, its that they can't bear knowing that there's someone out there suffering because of them. Its the hero complex - they have to save everyone and make a sacrifice at least three times a day."

"They're b-better than you."

Zachariah sniggered under his breath and turned away, wandering a few steps before spinning to face him once more. His calm smile was gone, replaced by a sadistic grin. He raised one hand in before him, curled it into a fist. Castiel's breath caught in his chest as he felt the attack, this time not on his body but on the limbs extending from his shoulderblades. His left wing joint cracked sharply and he screamed harshly, the agony searing through his brain in a way that flesh and bone never could. He could hear himself begging, pleading for it to stop at the top of his lungs but his stunned brain still couldn't quite comprehend what was happening enough to stop. His wing twisted and he cringed against the bar, tears flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't _be- _The pain let off abruptly and Castiel's shaking legs buckled beneath him. His head dropped heavily forwards, blood and saliva dripping steadily from his lips. His whole body was shaking, trembling, convulsing around him. All he could do was hang there, trying to breathe.

"How did that feel, then? Are they still better than me?"

Castiel's voice had shrivelled up into nothing. Zachariah jerked his fist once more and a raw sob ripped from Castiel's throat as his limb twisted again.

"Well, brother? Are you going to tell me yet?"

His blood was roaring in his ears, his heart pulsing fast... no, not fast, he could hear the beats slowing, beginning to falter every so often. A sudden heat blazed from his eyes, only for a second, and then slipped away. He sucked in a rattling gasp, doing his best to calm down, tears still slipping down his face.

"I believe you're nearing the end, Castiel... was that what I thought it was?" Zachariah arched one eyebrow, a smirk once more flickering across his face. "I _was _going to hold you here until you talked to me. Of course, now it looks like you're not going to make it that far."

Castiel wished he could lift his head and shout something that would make Dean proud. But his eyes remained fixed on the floor, his mouth remained dry and bloody, his body kept shaking. He couldn't do it. Zachariah laughed and turned, striding away across the warehouse and leaving Castiel alone with his despair.

* * *

"This isn't gonna work."

Sam looked up from the huge chalk symbol he was drawing on the floor and glared.

It had taken seven hours for them to reach Missouri rather than eight, with Dean racing over the speed limit as soon as he hit the highway and Sam spending most of the journey with his eyes squeezed shut and trying to pretend he was completely safe. They had checked into the first motel they saw... and Bobby rang. What he said made Dean snigger and mutter under his breath until Sam finally snapped and yelled at him to shut up. It was a long shot, but if it worked, they might just get through this alive. And so Sam was willing to try it. They had torn up the carpet of their main room - this was actually a nice motel with a bedroom holding two singles, a bathroom and a large kitchen/living room with a television and microwave and tiny fridge, and a sofa which folded out into a third bed - in a rough, two-meter square to reveal the concrete floor beneath. It was on this hard surface that Sam was now chalking out the circle, pentagram and intricate symbols within that Bobby had sent him.

"You've already said that," Sam growled. "A _lot_. This floor is hard and my knees are killing me and I've screwed this symbol up three times already so, unless you have something helpful to say, shut the hell up."

"Jesus, you're so cranky when you're wrong," Dean muttered. He pushed off from his place against the wall and began to pace slowly, cracking his knuckles. "I mean, what if it really _does_ _not_ work? We'll be dead. And with angels that powerful on our ass, its gonna be a damned painful dead too!"

"It doesn't matter. Cas needs our help, like, yesterday."

"I know, I know, I just don't think this is right. Remember, go in smart or not at all, right?"

"This is as smart as we're gonna get! Dean, we don't have time to work anything else out!"

Dean nodded. "I know. I just wish..." he sighed heavily and shook his head. "I just wish we didn't have to go in blind like this."

Sam returned his gaze to the symbol and began to copy it out for the fourth time. Dean watched him for a few seconds before returning to the map they had spread out on the table, placing both palms on the wood and staring down at it intently. They had marked out the collection of warehouses that was their target and their way in with a thick red pen. Dean ran his eyes over their route, wetting his lips. Sam finally finished his work and sat back on his heels, putting down the chalk. He lit five candles, placed them at each point of the pentagram, then reached for the jar sitting beside him and unscrewed the lid. He poured the blood Dean had lifted earlier from the hospital into the centre of the circle - it formed a perfectly equal six-pointed star. Sam heaved himself up onto his feet, wincing at his stiff knees, and made his way over to Dean.

"There," he muttered. "Done. What time is it?"

"Five."

"Shit..."

"I know," Dean said, straightning grimly. "Its been thirty nine hours." He passed a hand over his eyes, turned to face his brother. "Fine. We'll do this plan. We got everything we need?"

Sam picked up the rucksack that was lying on the floor and placed it on the table, sifting through it. Inside were two spray cans, a coil of rope with a thick metal hook at one end, two torches, a pair of bolt cutters, and a strange, metal cylinder. Sam's fingers brushed the cylinder.

"Still can't believe you actually found one of these."

Dean offered a smile. "I know where to go. So we're ready?"

Sam nodded steadily. "We're ready."

"Okay," Dean said, mirroring the nod. He looked Sam straight in the eye, swallowing hard. "When do we leave?"

* * *

If Castiel shut his eyes and tried as hard as he could, he could picture the moment he had stood at the motel window and watched the golden rays of the sun picking out every detail of the street far below, listening to Sam's stiff breathing and the crunch of Dean's teeth on his hot dog, just three days before he had met up with them once more in the darkness of the alleyways. He could remember the magic of peach fading to pink fading to purple fading to deep blue. He could remember the way the buildings had looked silver. He could remember the feeling of belonging, of needing to stay... he could keep pretending for a record of seven seconds before the whip snapped down on him again like a tongue of fire and ripped his skin apart, thick, warm blood rushing down his body.

Then the game was up, and the real world crashed back into him once more.

He clenched his jaw tightly, barely suppressing a moan as he hung from the bar over his head. Kushiel moved around him, flicking the whip from side to side like the ticking of a clock. He wiped flecks of blood from his cheek, glancing at them critically before wiping his palm on his trousers. Without warning, his arm whirled up and over, bringing the leather strip across Castiel's shoulder and elicting a rough yell.

"You realize, if I slit your throat right now, you would die?"

Castiel bit his lip hard, doing his best to hold back any other of the sounds that were welling up inside him. He didn't have enough left inside to reply, and he didn't want to anyway.

"Zachariah is telling the truth. He wants you back on our side. He wants you fighting the right fight again."

_"You spineless, soulless son of a bitch..."_

_"Oh, so I'm your bullet sheild?"_

_"The father you love, you think he'd want this? You think he'd ask this of you?"_

_"What you're feeling... its called doubt."_

_"We're done. We're _done!"

_"You're angels, you're supposed to show mercy!"_

"Castiel?" The whip licked across his back. "Are you listening to me?"

The voices ringing in Castiel's head broke off, and he yelped as the pain slammed into him once more. It had been happening more and more over the past few hours, his mind drifting away to the past for short snatches of time. His head was spinning wildly, sickeningly, jolting back and forth between now and then like a jumping record. Between the blood and the pain and the shouts and the lies. Every time he came back, he was reminded that he was left with nothing.

No one was coming for him, he was sure of that.

He knew he should be grateful, should be thanking god that Sam and Dean had followed his orders and run for their lives. He should be happy that they were safe. And he _was_... he just wished that he was with them. And a selfish, spineless corner of him wished that someone was coming. He hated himself for it. He wouldn't want anyone to come here: they would be struck down at once. He was wishing death to whoever he wanted to save him.

"He'll be back soon. Zachariah. He said he wanted to be there when that stubborn light of yours finally goes out."

It struck him again, snapping around his arm. Castiel shut his eyes tightly. He could feel 'that stubborn light' blazing inside them once more, yet another threat. He doubted he had long left. The whip bit him once more and the light shrank away into his head. Castiel felt the whip again, striking once, twice... he couldn't feel pain anymore. He was beginning to drift again, only this time he wasn't coming back.

_"Our father! He stopped being that when he created _them_."_

_"Its time to think for yourself."_

_"I don't know what to do..."_

Maybe Kushiel was still hitting him. Maybe he wasn't. Castiel wasn't sure anymore.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he even cared.

* * *

Sam hefted the rucksack on his shoulder and sighed, his breath misting in the air before him like smoke. Crouched behind the back wheels of the huge yellow crane just inside the gates of the building site, he felt uncomfortably exposed. The icy night air bit through his jacket and ate into his bones, and he shifted from foot to foot on his haunches, one hand gripping his rifle. He also had two knives in his belt and a small handgun, and yet still he felt helpless. The steady aching in his side that the pain killers couldn't quite mask reminded him of the wounds he was still healing from, and that he wouldn't hold up for long in a hand to hand fight. It was for this reason that Dean was scouting the area, not him.

They had left the motel at eleven, as soon as it had become pitch black outside and they were one hundred percent sure the builders would be off for the day. They had left the Impala behind at the motel and taken the bus into town, then walked to the building site that Dean had tracked Castiel's mobile signal to. Despite the fact that they were eighty percent sure that it was angels behind this, Dean still carried a flask of holy water and Ruby's knife and Sam the rock salt rifle. Sam also had with him the rucksack filled with everything they needed. Their plan was sketchy, almost completely based on luck, and reckless as hell but Sam wasn't prepared to wait any longer. And with the building site deserted, the warehouses locked up, they had needed no more reasons to wait.

A dim scuffling reached Sam's ears and he tensed, rising up on one knee and lifting the rifle. To his right the scuffling grew louder, and then Dean suddenly appeared from behind the huge wheel of the crane and crouched down beside him. Sam relaxed, lowering his weapon.

"Okay?" Dean asked. "You gonna shoot me?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered. "Just a little edgy. What'd you see?"

Dean's eyes flicked towards his right. "All the warehouses are deserted apart from one over there. Lights are off but we've got guys wandering around outside for no reason, all in suits, all obvious as hell. Angels haven't learned much about laying low."

"And you're absolutely sure?"

"Pretty much," Dean replied. "Sure enough to go for it. So, you ready?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Lets go."

Dean held his gaze for a moment, and then turned and crept out from behind the wheel. He made a break for the nearest warehouse, ducking into the shadows. Sam took a deep breath.

"Hold on, Cas," he murmured. "We're coming."

And he moved out into the open after his brother, rifle in hand.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!**

Sam and Dean came to a halt in the shadows of the building next to the warehouse that was their target. Cement mixers, planks of wood, metal sheets and concrete blocks littered the ground, preperations for another days work, casting ominous, twisted shadows over the dry dirt ground. The black sky, lit with a sliver of cresant moon, turned the world into a mass of black and silvery-blue sheens, empty of any true colours. How the angels were keeping it up undercover, Sam had no idea. Of course, they were angels. They did what they wanted. Sam could see one now, a tall, wiry man walking slowly back and forth along the gap between the two buildings, dressed in a grey suit, hands in pockets. He looked like the average everyday businessman, out for a night stroll. A night stroll in front of a door that was locked shut with several loops of thick chains...

As if.

Sam watched until he had turned back and moved out of sight before squatting down on the ground, pulling his rucksack from his shoulder. They had been planning to use the bolt cutters to break in through the front doors, but that wasn't an option anymore due to the angel's tight guard, so it was plan B... He pulled out the metal cylinder within and held it out to Dean, who took it cautiously.

"Okay. You sure you're up for this?"

"Dean, I could do this with my eyes shut and one hand tied behind my back," Sam replied, fustration nipping at his voice. "We're not stopping now. Go on."

Dean rolled his eyes but turned and made his way around the other side of the building. Sam took the rope and hook from his rucksack and pulled the bag back onto his shoulder before rising to his feet and peering around the edge of the building. The angel was on his way back. Sam lodged the rifle into the straps of the rucksack behind his back and clenched his hands over the rope, readying himself.

_Come on, Dean, come on..._

The angel was coming closer. Sam felt a small flash of panic. He wiped at the sweat gathering on his upper lip, his hands trembling slightly...

_BANG!_

The explosion echoed through the site, followed by a loud, ferocious hissing. The angel span around, shooting towards the sound as fast as it could, and Sam sprinted for the warehouse. He skidded into the shadows at its back and craned his neck up, hoping, praying Dean had been right... _yes. _The huge rectangular back window was still open a few inches. Sam hefted the hook in his hands, then pulled back and threw it. It spiralled up into the air and fell straight back down again. Sam muttered a curse and aimed again, his heart thumping hard. He fixed his eyes on the gap of the window, braced himself... threw. The hook flew upwards and clattered onto the gap, lodging there tightly. Sam tugged on the rope to make sure it was secure, and then flinched and snatched at his rifle as a figure raced around the corner. Dean gestured to him hastily, whispering as loud as he dared.

"Move, damn it, move!"

Sam took hold of the rope and hauled himself upwards without a backwards glance. He had learned to climb ropes when he was little in gym, and in their line of work it was something often needed for an escape. His arm throbbed but he kept moving, dragging himself upwards, hands and feet scrabbling. The smoke bomb was all they had needed to create a good enough distraction. The angels had probably never seen one before, and would assume it was either a demon or some kind of powerful being attacking them. Once they found the source of the smoke, they would waste precious minutes searching the site for the person who had put it there. Hopefully - _hopefully - _that would give Sam and Dean all the time they needed. Now, Sam reached the window and clawed his way awkwardly onto the sill, pushing the window fully open as he went. He sat on it, holding the hook steady as Dean followed him. Dean reached him within a few minutes and braced himself against the wall, hands linked over the sill, waiting as Sam pulled the rope up and flung it down inside the building, hooking it onto the sill again.

"Go on," Dean snapped, wincing with the effort of holding himself.

Sam flipped himself over the sill, gripping the rope. He slid down it, almost burning his hands on the coarse matireal. He hit the ground and staggered, holding the wall for support. Inside the warehouse it was too dark to see. Any lights had been switched off, plunging the place into blackness. For a moment, Sam panicked that they'd got it wrong, come to the wrong place... Dean started down after him. Sam dug in the bag for the two torches, passed one to his brother as Dean landed. Dean took it and flicked it on, tugging the hook down as he went and allowing it to fall to the ground at their feet. Sam lifted his own, passing the light over the warehouse. It barely penetrated the inky blackness at all, stretching only a few meters. Sam moved forwards warily, holding the rifle in his other hand, keeping his finger on the trigger. He moved the torch in a sweeping motion, left and right.

"Jesus, its dark..."

"Find a light switch," Sam whispered back. "I think we're alone."

Dean muttered something and headed over to the wall, his flashlight bobbing along before him. Sam kept picking his way forwards, eyes narrowed. He wanted to shout for Castiel, but it was still too dangerous. If there was something here, if it didn't already know, he wanted to keep quiet for as long as possible.

Then Dean found the lights and a dim glow lit the huge, dark space, and Sam threw caution to the winds. Because he could finally see Castiel, wrists chained tightly to a bar that stretched over his head, hanging limply from the thin structure.

"Cas!"

Sam raced forwards, letting the rifle and rucksack fall as he reached the angel. He ducked around to face him and froze, his stomach turning over. Castiel was covered in gashes and welts, dripping blood thickly over his pale skin. Bruises blotched the side of his chest and face, one eye swollen heavily. Someone had been hitting him - _hard_. Blood was crusting on his forehead and top lip, dribbling from his mouth. And there was a metal rod, the same as the one they had found in the alleyway, burried in his chest. Sam stared at him in horror, hands flitting over the still body, trying to find somewhere that wouldn't hurt if he touched.

"Cas... _shit, _Castiel..."

"He alive?"

Dean was hanging back, his face suddenly pale. Sam carefully pressed his fingers against Castiel's neck, offering a whispered apology for any more pain he caused. He waited, holding his breath... _there. _A soft, flickering pulse against his fingertips. Sam let out a sigh of relief.

"He's alive," he replied.

"You think its Cas, or Jimmy?"

Sam swallowed hard. He hadn't thought of that yet. He shook his head. "I don't know. Get the spray cans, quickly!"

Dean moved away and returned with Castiel's coat in his hands. He placed it on the floor as he knelt down, tearing the spray cans from the bag. He pulled a crumpled peice of paper from his pocket, striding away. Sam could hear the hissing of the cans as Dean began to copy the markings on the paper out onto the concrete floor. He grabbed the bolt cutters from the bag and stepped closer, touching Castiel's un-bloodied shoulder.

"Hey, man, you hear me? Cas?"

Castiel's head turned a little. Sam raised a hand to the chains around Castiel's left wrist, fixing them between the bolt cutters, and wrapped his other arm around the angel's waist. He clenched his hand, squeezing the chains as hard as he could between the cutters. There was a groan, and then the chains came loose. Castiel's arm dropped heavily down over Sam's shoulder, and the angel let out a pained moan as the metal rod in his chest bumped against Sam's.

"Okay, okay, I gotcha," Sam muttered, reaching across for the other wrist. "Don't worry, Cas, its me..."

He fixed the chains between the cutters, clenched hard. Castiel's other arm dropped down and the angel fell at once into Sam, his legs giving out at once, a groan falling from his lips. Sam tightened his grip on the angel, lowering him to the ground as gently as he could.

"S'okay, I gotcha," Sam repeated quickly. "Just stay calm, man."

Castiel's eyes cracked open, focussing blearily on Sam. He blinked slowly, his breath rattling shallowly in and out.

"S-Sa... muel..."

His voice was a dead rasp in the back of his throat, a shadow of what he should sound like. Sam pressed his lips together and leant forwards, running his hands over Castiel's broken, beaten body. He could feel several breaks - his arm, his ribs, his leg - and there was so much blood, and _shit _he was freezing... Sam shut his eyes tightly, steadying himself. He reached for the trench coat, felt for the arm hole.

"We're getting you outta here, Cas, right now," he said, managing to keep his voice calm. "Just gonna put this on you, alright, try and warm ya' up..."

He leant forwards. Castiel's body suddenly jerked and his face twisted in pain as spasms raked through him. Sam grabbed his shoulder, scared to try to hold him down, and Castiel's eyes opened to reveal burning white light... Sam stared. Castiel shut his eyes tightly, gasping weakly.

"S-Sam... N-No..."

"Its okay," Sam managed to force out. "Its all gonna be fine."

Castiel's eyes flickered open again, this time empty of light. Relaxing a little, Sam reached out and pulled the angel into his coat as gently as he could. Castiel flinched and moaned as Sam's fingers brushed his wounds. Sam kept apologizing, muttering under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder, where Dean was finishing off the symbol - one which was an exact mirror of the one in their motel room. Sam hooked his hands under Castiel's arms, hauling the angel up and supporting him as he made his way towards Dean. Castiel dragged beside him, unable to help at all. Sam's stomach flipped again as his heart screamed panic. He'd never seen Castiel hurt so badly before, _never_.

"How is he?" Dean asked as he finished the last of the smaller symbols inside the circle and rose to his feet, one spray can already empty and cast away, the other in his hand.

Sam shook his head, pulling Castiel up as the angel began to slip. Castiel's head dropped onto Sam's shoulder, blood soaking into his jacket, and Sam had a sudden flash of memory. Of himself taking this position as strong arms curled around him, barley a week ago, pulling him to safety. Sam blinked hard as Dean leant to wards Castiel, pushing the memory away.

"Don't you worry, Cas," Dean said clearly. "Its all over now."

"That's right - it is."

Dean whipped around at the voice; Sam turned his head, unable to move fully with Castiel depending on him so much. A dark-haired man was standing behind them, hands balled into fists, eyes flashing. Dean didn't hesitate - he swung the spray can up and pressed his finger down on the nozzle, sending a burst of paint into the angel's face. The man stumbled backwards, gasping, hands against his eyes. Dean moved after him, shouting over his shoulder to Sam.

"Start the damned ritual!"

Sam began to speak, rambling the latin he had memorised earlier that night. Before he could even finish the first sentence someone barrelled into him from behind, sending both him and the attacker staggering away. Castiel dropped to the ground and lay there, curling into a ball and wrapping his arms around himself, the metal rod protuding between them. Sam lashed out wildly at the angel that was swiping at him, still screaming the latin at the top of his voice.

"Nos ominous spiritous de charman su eristi christo mar na! Nos spiritos deimos respiron na! Nos-"

He broke off with a gasp as the angel's fist sank into his stomach, fell to his knees gasping for breath. He turned his head, searching for Dean, but his brother was still struggling with the other angel. He glanced the other way for Castiel and his heart lurched as he saw Zachariah step out of the shadows and crouch down beside the shuddering angel.

"Well done, Castiel. I knew you'd bring them here eventually." He leant closer. "When you die, tell god I'm winning."

Sam scowled furiously and pulled his handgun from his pocket, shooting the angel towering over him in the face. The angel faltered, shocked, and Sam leapt to his feet and raced away, chanting once more.

"Nos spiritos de na octamos miden frei son ma..."

He glanced quickly at Dean, who had sprayed his angel again and was backing towards his brother. The angel's face was a mass of blue paint and bloodshot eyes, his mouth twisted in a snarl of anger. Dean noticed Zachariah and dived forwards, shouting.

"Hey! Back off, freak!"

Zachariah smiled at Castiel, then rose to his feet and turned to meet him. He wasn't expecting the faceful of blue paint that hit him as he opened his mouth to speak, and took a few stunned steps backwards. Dean gestured wildly to Sam.

"Get inside the circle, quickly!"

Sam ran to Castiel, still speaking, and dragged the limp angel with him into the circle. He crouched there, arms wrapped around Castiel's chest, feeling the angel's shudders and spasms running through him. He hesitated as he reached the last sentence, waiting for Dean to join him, but the angels were closing in. Paint ran across their eyes in a large strip, making them look like masked menaces in a low-budget film. Dean backed up, but Zachariah flicked out a hand, sending him flying backwards. He hit the ground hard and the spray can rolled from his hand as he gasped, winded. Sam crouched motionless, mouth open, poised to speak, but he couldn't leave without Dean. He couldn't break the chant... _Dean, move! _he screamed in his head.

"End of the road, Winchesters," Zachariah said, grinning. "Give it up."

He moved forwards and Sam tightened his grip on Castiel, bracing himself for the blow coming...

... and a tall, slender figure appeared between Zachariah and his prey, arms spread out, red hair flying out behind her. Zachariah dropped back, his eyes widening.

"You... how did you get out!?"

Anna's lips quirked in a smirk. "Keep guessing," she said icily. She glanced over her shoulder at Sam. He saw her eyes flicker to Castiel, saw the greif and fear in her gaze. "Keep going," she ordered. "Get out, quickly."

Sam looked hastily for Dean, but his brother was already staggering towards him. Relieved, he started up the chant once more, speaking under his breath. The angels moved forwards, but Anna flung out one hand and sent one tumbling backwards.

"Don't!" she snarled. "Don't."

"You'll pay for this," Zachariah spat, his face the picture of rage.

Anna faced him without flinching. "Do your worst," she challenged.

"Anna..."

Sam's eyes turned to the figure who had just appeared at the back of the warehouse, cringing in the shadows. Anna's body stiffened.

"Israfel," she said. "I'm so, so dissapointed in you."

Sam raised his voice, reaching the end of the ritual as Dean stepped into the circle, crouching down beside them, spray can back in his hand. The older Winchester placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder, offering what he could. Castiel's eyes fluttered, tear tracks carved deeply into the blood on his face. Light began to gather around them, lightning snatching at the ground at the five points of the pentagram.

"NO!" Zachariah lurched forwards the other angels at his heels. "Stop them, now!"

Anna glanced over her shoulder. A savage grin chased over her face as she met Sam's gaze. Then she vanished on the spot, and Zachariah was almost upon them, and Sam was still holding Castiel's freezing, trembling body as if he would never let go -

They lurched off the ground with such speed that Sam felt as if half of his insides got left behind. They were moving fast, faster than he had ever moved before, wind tearing at them, Castiel still in his grip, light and dark blinding them at the same time. An unbearable roaring screamed in Sam's ears, deafening, he felt as if his brain was about to explode... and they slammed face-first into the hard, concrete floor of their motel room.

For a few moments, all Sam could do was force breaths in and out of his winded chest, wincing as his brusied side once more alerted him to its prior injuries. He heard a movement beside him, heard footsteps as Dean scrambled up and raced away. Panting, Sam pushed himself up to his hands and knees, looking around. Yes, they were definately in their motel room. The voodoo transportation ritual had actually worked... Sam could barely believed it. The blood hadn't been drained from a freshly dead corpse straight onto the floor, and sure it wasn't _quite _night when he had drawn the first symbol, but it had _worked..._ Dean had picked up the spray can and was spraying a ward over the door. Sam looked quickly down at Castiel, reached out to pull the angel onto his back. Castiel flinched, shaking and jerking.

"Shit..." Sam's eyes moved to the rod, which had been rammed even deeper with their ungraceful landing. Castiel's fist slammed down into the concrete, causing a deep crack, and Sam hastily placed his hands on the angel's shoulders. "How's that coming, Dean?" he yelled, glancing at his brother.

"I got it," Dean shouted back, finishing the protection with a few more quick strokes before turning and tossing the can down. He paled at the sight of Castiel bucking and spasaming on the floor, Sam doing his best to hold the angel down, muttering hastily calming words.

"Okay, its alright, Cas, hang in there, it's okay, it's alright..."

Castiel's eyes suddenly flickered with white light and his body jerked sharply, blood still pouring from his wounds and pooling on the floor beneath him. Sam flinched at the glare and then looked up at Dean, his own eyes wide with horror.

"Dean! Dean, I think..." He tried to make himself say it. Castiel moaned and Sam swallowed hard. "Shit, I think he's dying!"

Dean's eyes flashed with panic, a terror that didn't quite make it past the mask he had kept up over the duration of the evening. Sam knew how much Dean valued Castiel, both as a fellow hunter and a friend. His brother strode forwards and dropped down beside Castiel, flexing his hands. Sam, understanding, tightened his grip on the angel. It was time to put Bobby's theories into practice.

"Okay, I'm gonna get it out," Dean murmured. He ran his tongue over his lips and then seized the rod and braced himself against the floor. Castiel let out a wild scream and lashed out wildly, his chest heaving. Sam scrambled to catch his flying hands, Dean shouted over his howls.

"Cas, you gotta stay still, damn it!"

"Hold still, man, Dean's got it, just stay still," Sam said, his words tumbling over one another. Dean began to pull on the rod once more and Castiel's eyes glowed once more before abruptly going dull. Sam froze and then bent close to the angel's face. "Shit... shit, Dean, he's not breathing!"

Sam felt panic tearing at him as Dean pulled again at the rod. It dragged back into Castiel's body, as if magnetised, but he pulled once more. It shifted upwards slightly, and Sam felt a rush of hope.

"Got it?" Sam asked, glancing up at him. "You got it?"

"I can't... shit!" The rod slid back in a little, but Dean hauled it upwards as hard as he could. "Wait... I think I got it," he panted. "Okay..."

"Hold on, man," Sam muttered, still holding Castiel's limp body to the floor with trembling arms. "He's got it, okay?"

With a final, desperate, burst of effort Dean thrust himself backwards and the rod finally tore free, slick with blood and shining in the light. Dean fell back with the momentum and sat motionless for a moment, stunned. Then he scrambled upwards and sprinted for the bathroom, already chanting under his breath.

Sam slowly released his grip on Castiel's motionless body, sitting back on his heels. The angel lay still on the ground in the centre of the pentagram, even the blood on his body trickling sluggishly down to pool on the ground beneath him. His empty, sightless eyes stared past Sam into space, glazed and dead. Sam swallowed hard, scrubbed a blood-stained hand over his face.

"No, no, no," he whispered, tears pricking at his eyes. "No, come on, Castiel... jesus, we can't do this without you... come _on, _come _on..."_

He clasped his hands together on his knees, rocking unconsciously back and forwards, praying with everything he had to whatever cruel god existed. Castiel's face remained still, his chest remained motionless. Sam shut his eyes tightly. From the bathroom came a soft _crack _as Dean completed the ritual, breaking the rod, but still nothing happened. Sam balled his hands into fists, rammed one down into the floor in greif and fustration.

"NO! Come on, Cas! Come on..."

Dean appeared in the bathroom door, breathless, his hands wet with blood. His eyes moved from Castiel to Sam and back again. Then he swore under his breath and pressed his forehead against the doorway.

Silence stretched between them, their failure as loud as an alarm bell in their heads.

**Still got a few chapters to come... want to know what happens? Please review!!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thank you to everyone who took the time to review!**

**Firstly I feel I should apologize for the shockingly mean cliffie in the last chapter... anyone who's read any of my other stories will know how much I love cliff hangers! Just can't help myself! And to those who actually let themselves believe I would kill Castiel off so coldly... come on!! Sorry, but I just love him too much to let him go yet! Besides, he hasn't had time to thank Sam and Dean for their daring rescue yet. And I think Anna deserves another appearence - just a few sentences in one chapter is all she gets? I don't think so. She doesn't seem to have much to do in the fifth season, just kind of vanished into thin air after the last bit after she was dragged off by the angels. Ah well... people live on forever in fanfiction!**

**Anywho, for fear of rambling about the flaws in the seasons for the rest of this update, here's the next chapter. Thanks again to those who reviews. This chapter is dedicated to all of you!**

* * *

_Sam clasped his hands together on his knees, rocking unconsciously back and forwards, praying with everything he had to whatever cruel god existed. Castiel's face remained still, his chest remained motionless. Sam shut his eyes tightly. From the bathroom came a soft crack as Dean completed the ritual, breaking the rod, but still nothing happened. Sam balled his hands into fists, rammed one down into the floor in greif and fustration._

_"NO! Come on, Cas! Come on..."_

_Dean appeared in the bathroom door, breathless, his hands wet with blood. His eyes moved from Castiel to Sam and back again. Then he swore under his breath and pressed his forehead against the doorway._

_Silence stretched between them, their failure as loud as an alarm bell in their heads._

Sam felt the first heavy sob building in his chest and sniffed, wiping furiously at his eyes. No, he was _not _going to cry. This wasn't over yet. He couldn't give up. He leant forwards, grabbing Castiel's shoulders once more and shaking the limp body roughly.

"No, Cas, no! I'm not letting you do this! Wake _up, _damn it, wake up!"

"Sammy..."

Dean's hand came down on his shoulder. Sam tore away, placing his hand against Castiel's face and jostling the angel again. God, he was so cold. The coat didn't seem to have done anything to warm him. _Should've given him my jacket... should've done more..._

"Sam, stop."

"_No!_" Sam whipped around, glaring at his brother with eyes that were red with tears. "We're not losing someone else, we're fucking not! He's going to come back, he's going to wake up!"

Dean just looked at him. His brother looked devestated in a way that only Dean could - shoulders slumped, hands hanging loosely at his sides, face completely expressionless. Beaten. Sam had only seen him look like this a few times, none of them happy. Dean shook his head slowly.

"Come on, Sam," he said hoarsely.

Sam felt himself rising slowly to his feet, looking back down at Castiel. He took a few unsteady steps away, the lump in his throat thickening. He glanced down at himself, taking in the wet blood streaked over his shirt and skin. Castiel's blood. Sam shut his eyes tightly, turning his face away. He and Dean stood together, neither brave enough to look at him a moment longer. Castiel. The one person they had been able to count on in this crappy hole of a world, the angel who had given up everything to help them, the one who had saved their necks time after time. And they hadn't been able to save him in return once. Not once...

"Its not fair," Sam whispered.

The words sounded so childish, so complaining and selfish, and yet Dean nodded steadily.

"No," he said gruffly. "Its not. Its our god-damned curse."

Sam sniffed again, doing his best to hold back the tears that were on their way out. "What... what now?"

Dean took a deep breath, but Sam still didn't miss the tremble in his voice as he spoke. "Torch his corpse, I guess. We could take him to Bobby's, do it properly..."

Sam just shook his head. He forced himself to turn, to look Castiel in the face once more, opening his mouth to apologize to the body for everything he had done wrong. Castiel's eyes stared straight up at the ceiling above him - and blinked.

Sam's heart juddered to a halt in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. Dean was still speaking, saying something about cleaning up and getting the car, but Sam was no longer listening. As he moved forwards, hardly daring to believe it, Castiel suddenly jerked harshly and let out a wet cough, his head rolling to the side. Dean flinched, swearing loudly, and Sam lurched forwards. He dropped to his knees beside the gasping angel, taking hold of his upper arms as his body shuddered, twisting on the concrete floor.

"Cas! Cas, you hear me? Castiel?"

* * *

_"Cas! Cas, you hear me? Castiel?"_

Castiel was nintey percent sure that he was dead. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't think. His head was full of a thick, black fog, rendering him nothing but a simple being floating through space. He wasn't angry - he welcomed death after everything that had happened. Zachariah must have finally ended his life, taken pity on him. He was surprised. He'd thought Zachariah would have kept him alive as long as possible, kept bringing him back from the brink for more questions. But, now that he truly thought about it, his last moments had not been with Castiel. They had been lying on a hard floor, listening to someone shouting his name, feeling warm hands gripping him tightly, anchoring him. Shouting with a voice strangely like the one he could vaugely hear now, holding him with hands oddly similar to the ones that were on his arms. And, now that he thought about that, he wasn't so much floating as lying on his back, pain screaming through his body in sharp, sudden pulses that nearly tore him to shreds each time.

A sudden warmth bubbled up in his throat and a rank taste entered his mouth, pushing out through his lips. He heard a cry, felt the hands turn him onto his side as the substance flowed from his lips, uncontrollable, his body flinching and retching to remove it. There was a second pair of hands now, too. A palm held his forehead, keeping his head level and fingers were braced against his back, rubbing it in a way that seemed to ease the self-destruct retches that his body was trying to execute. The feelings suddenly faded, and Castiel felt the hands ease him onto his back once more. They were calling to him, these people crouched around him. He could sense them now, one kneeling at his side, the other crouched near his head. One on the right, one on the left.

_"Okay, Cas, all over. Just all the trauma to your body, s'all."_

_"Cas? Castiel, man, c'mon give us some kinda sign here."_

_"Yeah, something. Can you talk?"_

_"Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear us, man?"_

Fingers closed over his right hand. Castiel tried to remember how to move... he managed to twitch his fingers downwards. He felt a tremble run through the hand on his; relief.

_"Thank god, thank god!"_

_"He do it?"_

_"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, lets get him into the bedroom."_

_"Yeah, right, you take that side."_

The hand let go, and then suddenly both pairs closed over his arms and pulled him upwards. Agony shot through him as his arms were once again lifted, and he heard a weak scream that tore at his own throat. Had he made that sound? He couldn't have. He didn't make sounds that terrified, that agonized... the hands held him carefully, wrapping around his back, pulling him forwards. His legs weren't working. They didn't seem to mind.

_"Sorry, man, sorry... just a little further, 'kay? Be there soon."_

_"Jesus, he's looking bad, Sam. He needs a doctor."_

_"We can't."_

_"I know... but shit, Sam."_

_"I know, I know. Just a little further, Cas."_

_"Think we should ring Bobby, call in a favour?"_

_"I don't think we should move him so soon. He's not strong enough."_

Sam. The name stirred something in his mind, something that he already knew... Sam and Dean Winchester. He caught a flash of memory, embedded with pain, of opening his eyes to see Sam pulling him down from the metal bar, talking to him, telling him to 'stay calm'. He felt calm... or just plain numb. No, not numb. The pain was there, darting in and out like the snap of a viper, like lightning snatching at the ground. But they were with him, Sam and Dean, they were at his side. He wasn't alone anymore...

_"Here we go, alright, Cas, going down now, okay?"_

The hands began to lower him. He touched down on something soft which dipped slightly beneath him. The hands pulled him onto it, pulled him up slightly so that his pounding head was resting on something padded. Head... he had eyes in his head. He cracked them open, experimentally. It was dark around him, but he could make out a mop-haired figure beding over him, pulling back his coat and prodding gently at his shoulder and chest. He blinked a few times, his eyes aching dryly. And there was someone else, standing just beside the first figure, watching him carefully.

"S-Sam... 'ean..." God, was that really what his voice sounded like? He sounded like a child, weak and rasping, half dead. He licked his dry, split lips. They must have taken on Zachariah... he must have hurt them, torn them apart... they should have known better. "Sh-Shouldn't've c-come," he mumbled, remembering his earlier wish for a saviour. He wasn't worth that kind of risk.

"Bullshit," Sam said harshly. His voice faded in and out, like a fumbling radio. "We weren't just gonna leave you. How do you feel?"

Castiel's eyes were beginning to sting - he squeezed them shut, wincing. How did he feel? Well, if he thought about it, everything hurt. Every inch of him seared and throbbed and trembled with pain.

"Ev'rythin'... hurts..."

It was a statement directed more to himself than to anyone else, but Sam nodded.

"Just hang in there, Cas, we're gonna patch you up."

"Go to sleep, man," Dean added. "You don't wanna be awake for this, trust me."

Castiel wanted to ask what he meant, but his head was beginning to pound furiously. And for the first time, 'sleep' sounded so good, even though he had never slept before in his life. So, slowly, he let his grip on the world come loose and drifted into the darkness once more, the raging pain retreating to a dull simmer. Bearable. Within twenty seconds he had lost consciousness once more.

* * *

"He out?"

Sam nodded, moving his fingers upwards to press against Castiel's neck. He paused, and then straightened up, shoulders heaving in a small sigh. Dean understood without needing to ask - Castiel's heart was still beating. He ran his hand through his short hair, nodding. He was still trembling after the sudden shock of Castiel bouncing back to life. That sudden cough... Christ, he had _not _been expecting that. Almost given him a damned heart attack. _Things just don't stay dead around us... _But this time, he was thankful that death had failed once more. Because, angels and demons aside, they needed Castiel.

He shook himself, trying to get his thoughts straight. This was no time to get misty-eyed. They still had blood and pentagrams all over the floor and weapons scattered over almost every surface. The last thing they needed now was someone knocking on their door, threatening to call the police. He glanced again at Castiel, still covered in blood and bruises.

"You think you can take care of him?"

Sam nodded, turning to face him. "Yeah. Well, see how bad it is. I'll do as much as I can."

"Okay. I gotta go and clean up, make sure no one's gonna come calling."

"Right."

Dean watched as Sam reached for his bag, dug in it for their first aid kit. His brother drew it out, placed it on the bedside cabinet, then rose to his feet and strode quickly from the room. Dean retreated to the doorway, leaning against it and watching Castiel's motionless body, until Sam returned with a pile of towels in one hand and a plastic tub full of water in his other. His brother returned to the bedside, spreading his things out around him, preparing. Dean tore his eyes away, turned out of the room.

"Call me if anything happens," he called over his shoulder. "Anything!"

He closed the door softly behind him, then faced the mess he needed to clear up.

The pentagram in the centre of the room was smudged, candles snuffed out and on their sides, blood glistening in pools around the chalk drawing. The contents of Castiel's stomach were soaking into the carpet beside it - a sickening mess of yellow-white... Dean quickly stopped looking. He moved across the room, veering around the pentagram and snatching up the duffel bag lying by the floor. He crossed to the table dragged an arm across it, sweeping the weapons and plans into the bag. He tossed the bag into the corner and then made for the bathroom, collecting the towels Sam had left behind. He returned to the main room, got down on his knees. He scowled.

"Hunters don't do housework," he muttered.

He got to work. The process was slow and gut-wrenching. The sight and smell made his stomach turn, especially when he thought about who it had come from. Castiel just wasn't supposed to be hurt. He was supposed to be the untouchable soldier he was when Dean had first met him, impermeable to bullets and knives alike. And there was so much blood here, and there had been even more of the stuff back in the warehouse. None of it pointed towards a happy outcome.

But Cas was _alive. _As long as he kept remembering that, he could keep going.

He finally managed to get as much as he could off the floor, and faded the stains on the carpet to pale smudges with much scrubbing and swearing. He threw the towels behind him into the bathroom, then rolled the square of carpet back down. He sat back and studied his work. It was good enough to pass un-noticed by an unexpected visitor. It was still _there, _but at least now it wouldn't provoke a drop in from the police. Dean rose to his feet, wincing at the creak of his knees, and walked back into the bathroom. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then crouched down and shoved the soiled towels into the cupboard under the sink. They weren't planing on staying long anyway, and he definately wasn't planning on cleaning them as well. He rinsed his hands.

The sight of the motel room looking far more inconspicuous made him feel a little more relaxed as he crossed to the sofa, pulling his mobile from his mobile from his pocket and slumped down, his eyes aching dully. He was so ready to just sleep... but he couldn't yet. He knew it was late, but Bobby would kill him if he didn't call to let him know they were okay. So he pressed speeddial and put the mobile to his ear, leaning his head back against the cushions of the sofa.

Bobby picked up on the third ring, his voice rapid and hopeful.

"Dean? You boys alright?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, smiling at the sound of a familiar voice that was non-demonic, angelic or anything else that might cause trouble. "We're good. We've got Cas back."

"Good, good," Bobby said, his relief clear in his voice. "Nice work, Dean."

"Not all of it. He's not in the best shape."

"The rod?"

"Yeah. We lost him for a second when we got back. And thanks for that voodoo spell, by the way, it really saved our necks."

"Great. I told you it would work."

"Yeah, I know, I know. We had a little help from someone else, too. Anna."

"Anna? You're kidding me."

"Exactly. She saved our necks."

"She get out okay?"

Dean hesitated. "Yeah," he said eventually. "I think I saw her vamoosh just before we did."

A muffled noise from the bedroom made him pause, tensing, but there was nothing but silence following. He looked over his shoulder, watching the door, but still nothing happened. He slowly relaxed once more, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Christ, Bobby, it's been a rough night."

"Morning, you mean."

"Hmm?"

"Its two am, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Course it is," he muttered. "Listen, Bobby, you think we could spend a few days at yours? We really need somewhere safe for Castiel to get his strength back, and I don't want to stay in this town any longer than we have to. Won't be long before Zachariah comes knocking."

"Sure," Bobby said at once. "You boys are welcome whenever you need to be, you know that. When do you think you'll be down?"

"Ah... maybe some time tomorrow evening, probably late."

"Right, sure..." Bobby paused. "So, how bad is he?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam's checking him out now. He didn't look good at all."

"Well, now the rods out, theoretically he should heal like normal."

"Yeah, well, _theoretically, _he isn't. We'll just have to hope he gets back on track soon or we're gonna have to call in a doctor."

"Angel on the operating table doesn't sound good."

"Yeah, got that right." Dean swallowed hard. "Bobby... I'm really worried."

**Another chapter over. Anyone want more? Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean! And the lyrics don't belong to me either, no matter how much I wish they did...**

**Thanks for reviewing, people!**

Dean drifted awake to dull, pale sunlight on his face. He blinked, slowly bringing the world around him into focus. He was still on the sofa, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched out over the cushions. His head was craned backwards, mouth open, leaving a dry taste in his mouth, his mobile still held loosely in his hand. He couldn't remember falling asleep. He could remember talking to Bobby, saying goodbye with a promise to come over as soon as they were ready. He could remember closing his eyes for a second... ah, right. He lifted his head, wincing as his neck ached. Wrong place to fall asleep. He glanced down at his watch and his eyebrows leapt up. Twelve thirteen. He should never have slept in that long in these circumstances, none of them should have. Zachariah could be ten blocks away by now.

He pushed himself up to his feet, stretching out his cramped muscles as he rounded the sofa and made for the bedroom. He felt a small flash of concern as he reached the door - what if Sam and Castiel had been attacked when he was asleep? - but he opened it to find both men present and accounted for. Sam had fallen asleep without even removing his shirt or getting into the bed - he was curled up on top of the duvet, one arm hanging off the matress. There was blood still smudged over his cheek and hands. Dean ran his eyes over his brother, making doubly sure that the blood was not his before turning to Castiel.

Now that Sam had cleaned the angel up, Castiel looked half-mummified but at least he was no longer covered in blood. Sam had taped gauze over the worst of his wounds and then wrapped his whole chest in bandages, white strips which spread up over his shoulder. Two other strips were wrapped around his wrists, making it look as if he was wearing sweat bands. His right arm must be broken, as Sam had bound it to a splint. Dean could see bruises blossoming out from beneath the bandages over the right side of his chest, stretching up over his cheekbone and jaw and one eye, although the eye was nowhere near as bad as the night before. It looked like it was starting to go down. There was a thin cut on his forehead and his lip was split, but his nose looked normal enough. The first aid kit lay on the floor beside the bed, closed and tidied, but the bloodstained towels Sam had been using had just been thrown into a corner and still lay there, a harsh reminder of just how much blood Castiel had lost. The angel's trench coat was now a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, covered in blood. In unconsciousness the angel looked very different. His eyelashes fanned against his cheekbones darkly, his expressive eyes hidden. His mouth looked relaxed for the first time, not set in determination or concentration. He looked years younger, and so... human. Human and vulnerable. The lines of exhaustion and pain on his face had faded, but Dean could still see their traces.

God, he was gonna damn well _kill _those sons of bitches for doing this. They were cowards. Spineless, soulless, _stupid _cowards, and he was going to punish them all. Zachariah was going to pay for what he'd done to Cas.

_Its all our fault..._

_We didn't know._

_We should have got there sooner..._

_He should've told us._

_Its not his fault. He was trying to protect us._

He ran his hand through his hair, sighing heavily. He couldn't waste time obsessing over the past. He had to work to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. Jesus, Cas was in for a hell of a talking to when they finally got a moment after running for their lives. He was becoming as bad as the Winchesters...

"Dean?"

Dean glanced over at the bleary-eyed, ruffled Sam who was easing himself upright across the room. His brother swung his legs over the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face.

"Hey, man."

"What time is it?"

"Twelve... fiffteen," Dean replied, looking again at his watch.

Sam grimaced. "Damn... Shouldn't have slept in like that."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "I think we're okay, though. How's he doing?"

Sam rose to his feet, made his way over to Dean's side. Together they looked down at the angel. If Castiel could hear them, he offered no greeting - his eyes remained closed.

"I tried to watch him," Sam said wearily. "Must've fallen asleep... he didn't look good. Took me a whole two hours to patch him up."

"How bad is it?"

Sam sighed heavily. He gestured as he spoke, either to himself or to Castiel. "Ahh... two small wounds, pretty deep though, where he got shot with those rods. One in the chest, one in the left shoulder. Managed to stop the bleeding pretty quickly. Three gashes across his chest, big welt on his other shoulder... there was another cut across his stomach, but I think that one's pretty superficial. Had to place a few stitches in the deeper ones. He's got a few cracked ribs, broken his right arm. We're gonna have to take care of that properly at Bobby's, I don't have enough to deal with it here. And the back of his leg there, bleeding a little and pretty badly bruised. His face got re-arranged, like you can see... looking better today, though."

"He wake up at all?"

"Uh, not sure. There was one point, I was putting some stitches in his chest and he stirred, but I don't think he was awake for long. But I want you to double check the leg, I was real tired when I was finishing up."

"Sure." Dean knelt down beside the bed and pushed the left leg of Castiel's trousers up. He gently pulled off the bandage Sam had placed and felt along the bruised area cautiously. He couldn't feel any evidence of a break, just some bad bruising.

"Don't think its broken," he muttered, half to himself. "Reckon it'll be okay. S'gonna be hard for him to walk, though."

"Yeah. He's gonna have it tough over the next few days unless he starts healing."

Dean carefully re-wrapped the area and rolled the trouser leg back down. He shuffled to the head of the bed, placing his hand briefly on Castiel's forehead. The skin was warm beneath his hand, and when he reached for the angel's hand his palm was clammy and cold. Fever. Shit. He must have an infection... or maybe it was just the shock of the last few days building up. Dean squeezed Castiel's limp fingers before rising quickly to his feet before the moment could overstep the line into chick-flick.

"Think he has a fever," he said to Sam. "We have any antibiotics?"

"No decent ones," Sam replied sullenly. "We're all out. We're just gonna have to hope Bobby has everything we need... you spoke to him last night?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, his eyes still lingering on Castiel. "I reckon we should head over to his as soon as we can."

Sam agreed with a nod. "I'll get the stuff in here, you do the other room."

Dean nodded, moved outside. "Aim to go in three hours?" he tossed back over his shoulder.

Sam grunted affirmitively.

* * *

Castiel had never felt so heavy in his life.

The sheer silence around him was terrifying. In his usual form he could shift through any object, he could hear the buildings around him sigh and breathe, he could hear trees whispering their histories, he could hear the shatter as sunlight hit the ground and stars danced. It didn't matter what hour of the day or night, whether he was conscious or not, whether he was listening or burrying his head away, he could always hear the world shifting. The song of dancing static as if whizzed through a lampost. The heavy _haaa _of the darkness as night pressed in. The roar of the dawn as the sun surged upwards. The laughter of the sea as it broke itself into millions of pieces on the shore. Now he could hear nothing. _Nothing. _And he felt so _caged, _trapped in an unbearable weight of flesh and blood which felt more like cement now than a human body.

In his natural form, he was anything and everything and nothing all at once. In his true form their dance would bring earthquakes, their songs sent hurricanes whirling into oblivion in a howling combination of every sound ever made. When he flew he was faster than time could measure and when he stopped he could freeze everything around him as if caught in ice. He could hear the whispered final rights of a dying man in Spain and the sound of a baby crying loudly as it entered the cold, sharp world for the first time and heard the voices of the angels. People forgot it as they grew older, people would learn to ignore it to save themselves the shock. Nowadays they had to be careful, they had to make sure their vibrant colours wouldn't blind the beings crawling around on the ground.

He couldn't deny it. When he saw them, he was aghast at how they survived with so little life. With so little in their senses, seeing only the basic shapes, hearing only the echoes, touching only the surface. When he spread his millions of thin, spindly fingers over the world he could feel the very pulse of life, when he stared at people with his glowing eyes he could see everything, their hopes and dreams, their lies, their fears. And when he spread his wings... the feeling of tearing through time and space with his brothers and sisters at his sides... every feather shone with light, every idea flashed with the plumage of a peacock. His mind used to move so fast, flicking from rock to planet to man to earth to tree to sky to space to worm to stars to sea to the universe within a moment. He bore emotions more than love and hate and feelings which must be contained and named and tamed in order to be expressed. His emotions screamed when he felt them, his emotions were _more _than emotions. They had no words, no hinderence of speech.

When he was truly _he_, freed of the walls of a body, he could dance forever.

But not here.

He thought he could hear voices from somewhere on his left. People he knew... but he had forgotten their names again. And something was wrapped tightly around him, almost suffocating him. He wanted to tell them but his tongue was too thick, his body too leaden to move. His brain drifed sluggishly, as if he was wading through treacle. His body felt freezing, shivering and shaking even though he could feel sweat beading on his skin, trickling down his temples. And this hard, throbbing ache that surrounded him and made him want to flinch away... that wasn't what he was. This was all too human. And more than anything, he was scared of being human. To be human was to be the weakest species of all, to drown in confusion. And he knew such clarity in the world, that to waste away as a human would be a torture of the worst kind.

He was drifting off again, into his own mind and his memories. He didn't mind. He preferred it there, where he could race his brothers and sisters over the clouds endlessly because the world never ended and neither did the circle... his wing hurt. Really hurt. The left joint felt as if it was on fire.

And the fire hurt.

* * *

Sam returned to the bedroom as Dean hefted the last of his bags on his shoulder and headed for the Impala. Dean had cleaned up well enough the night before, but they had to find a place to stash the towels and some of the bloody stains were never going to come out. They would have to be far away before the motel owners realized that someone had almost bled out here and the police began sniffing around. Sure they would probably find the pentagram and wards, but Sam, Dean and Castiel would be out of the state by then and it would be too late to track them. Dean and Sam had already wiped down the surfaces to remove their fingerprints - Sam just had to finish with the last thing they had to bring with them.

Castiel's trench coat was still lying on the floor. Sam couldn't help but feel bad about leaving it. In fact, he couldn't do it. He scooped it up and threw it over the other bed, promising himself that he would come back for it. Even if the blood could never be washed out, it was still a part of Castiel and he couldn't just throw it in with the rest of the rubbish. He turned to Castiel, putting down the clothes that he had brought with him on the bedside cabinet along with the bottle, dropping the shoes onto the floor. Dean had eagerly passed this task onto Sam's shoulders, clearly far too awkward to do it himself. And Castiel couldn't go wondering around in nothing but blood-stained trousers. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and touched Castiel's arm lightly.

"Hey, Cas? Anyone in there?"

For a moment it looked like Castiel wasn't going to reply, but then he moaned softly and his brow furrowed. Sam's lips twitched in a smile.

"Cas? C'mon, man, time to wake up."

Castiel twisted his head away. Sam opened his mouth to try again, but then suddenly Castiel spoke. His voice was low and rough, rasping in and out. That was to be expected. What wasn't expected was what he said, and the wary violence that shivered through his voice, no matter how weak it was.

"What did you do to me?"

Sam blinked. "You were bleeding pretty badly, man. We bandaged you up. It won't be for long, a month, tops."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't... feel anything," he mumbled. "Can't hear it breathing. Can't see it flashing... what did you do?"

"Uh..."

To Sam, Castiel wasn't making a lick of sense. Maybe it was the fever, he might be delirious... Sam felt for his forehead, but he was nowhere near hot enough to be that bad. Maybe he was just confused. Castiel pulled his head away from Sam's touch and winced, gasping as he twisted his wounds.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Sam said, hands retreating. "Just checking. Can you open your eyes, man?"

Castiel remained still and tense, and then slowly opened his eyes. They roved over the ceiling for a few moments, skipping from side to side. "Where am I?" He demanded hoarsely.

"We're in a motel. You're safe, Cas."

The use of his nickname seemed to calm him a little: he blinked and then turned his head towards Sam. Sam let out a small breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Those were definately Castiel's eyes - wide, searching, intense. Scared... Sam forced another smile, lifted his hand in a small wave. Castiel stared at him for a moment, and then blinked slowly again.

"Samuel," he murmured.

"Yeah, that's right," Sam said, feeling a heady rush of relief. "You okay, man?"

Castiel's eyes slid away from him. He spoke haltingly. "It doesn't feel right... it feels too heavy..."

Understanding reached Sam and he nodded. Castiel just wasn't used to being wounded like this. This time his smile was real. "Its okay, Cas. You'll feel much better in a few days, I promise. But right now we need to leave, so you're gonna have to get up."

Castiel made no response. Sam hesitated, but then threw caution to the winds and leant forwards, taking hold of Castiel by the upper arms. He pulled him up, slipping a hand behind his back to help lift him into a sitting position. Castiel gasped with pain, one hand moving towards his chest. Sam stopped, putting an arm around his shoulders to keep him from falling back down again.

"Sorry, man, I know it hurts but you're gonna have to bear it for now. We'll get you some decent painkillers as soon as possible. Now, I'm gonna need you to change into these."

He reached for the clothes, placed them on his own lap. Castiel stared uncomprehensively at the jeans and shirt, eyebrows knitted together. Sam suppressed a sigh - clearly Castiel was going to need a lot of help with this. He pulled the shirt out of the pile, a flannel checkered thing, navy blue and black. It was one of his, but the jeans were Dean's. They had roughly guessed his size, not having much other choice. Sam carefully leant Castiel back against his shoulder and then snaked his hand around the front of the angel to pick up his arm, guiding it through the sleeve of the shirt. Castiel moved where he was pushed, making no effort to help, his eyes either squeezed shut or gazing blankly at the ceiling. Sam helped his other arm into the shirt and then climbed off the bed, keeping hold of Castiel by the shoulders, moving around to button it up, placing one knee on the bed. He glanced up at Castiel's face as he did so, and realized with a jolt that Castiel was wearing a helplessly pained expression.

"Sorry, Cas, sorry," he said quickly, guilt pressing against him. "You can go back to sleep in the car, hmm? Be real soon."

"I can't hear any of it..."

Sam bit his lip nervously. Castiel sounded so young and lost, more like a five year old than a man. And the way he was just moving wherever Sam put him... it was downright unnerving. It was as if he had lost something.

_Oh god, no, they didn't take his Grace, did they?_

He wanted to ask, but he knew it wasn't the time yet. Castiel needed help at the moment, not questions. Sam finished with the shirt and moved the angel carefully around, pulling his legs off the bed. He reached for the jeans, slung them over his arm, hesitated.

"Okay, Cas, I'm sorry about this... I'll do it as fast as I can, alright?"

He reached for Castiel's fly and undid it, stripped the trousers down and off him. He worried about letting go to put the jeans on, but when he removed his support Castiel only swayed slightly, remaining upright. Sam knelt down and slipped the jeans over his ankles, pulling them up and over Castiel's hips. The angel barely seemed to notice, even when Sam had to shift him on the bed to get the jeans all the way up. He did up the fly and sent a small prayer skywards that everything had gone smoothly. That had been something he had _not _been looking forwards to. But Castiel didn't seemed to have cared. He was still staring into space, his eyebrows slanted upwards, his mouth open slightly. Sam studied him for a moment, and then retrieved the shoes and socks from the floor and slid them onto Castiel's feet, tying the laces carefully. He felt almost as if he were doing it for a child, teaching it how to tie a knot. He shook his head and rose to his feet. Castiel was staring at his bandaged wrists, twitching his fingers as if not sure if they still worked.

"You'll be okay," Sam repeated. "They'll heal. I swear they will."

Castiel looked up at him, and then down at the floor. The shirt cuffs hung down way past his hands, his finger tips just poking out the ends, and the jeans trailed past his heels. He looked drowned in the matireal, almost obscured. Sam sat down on the bed beside him, reaching for the water bottle.

"You want some water?"

It wasn't really a question - in the Winchester handbook, getting the fluids back up was one of the most important rules. Sam lifted the bottle to Castiel's lips, moving his other hand around the angel's shoulders to steady him as Castiel obiediantly drank. Sam gave him the water in sips, pausing between each one to give him time to swallow. Castiel managed most of the bottle before he suppressed a cough, twisting his head away like a baby. Sam stopped at once. Castiel seemed to fragile to push at the moment. He threw the bottle into the rubbish bin across the room, then rose to his feet.

"C'mon, then, Cas," he said. "Time to go."

He pulled Castiel's uninjured arm over his shoulder and rose to his feet, supporting him carefully. Castiel leant heavily on him, legs giving way at once, but when Sam began to move experimentally towards the door he began to try to help, stumbling weakly along. Sam moved his other arm around Castiel's waist, pulling the angel closer to him. That memory hit him again, of himself in the same position. But it hadn't been Dean pulling him to safety, he had been moving too damn fast. Faster than light.

_With Cas. The night he saved me._

He shot the angel a quick glance. Castiel's eyes were still open and staring, his hand moving sluggishly about before him as if he was fighting his way through cobwebs. Sam felt a flash of worry. Hopefully Castiel would snap out of it when he was feeling better... but what if he didn't? Sam pushed the thought away. He couldn't think like that. He had to stay positive, for Castiel's sake.

They moved slowly - _s-l-o-w-l-y - _out of the bedroom and across the main room of the motel. The door was open, and the Impala was parked right outside. As they stepped out into the pale, late-afternoon sunshine, clouds shifting across the sky, a soft wind blowing gently on their faces, Castiel winced and abruptly burried his face in Sam's shoulder. Sam stopped quickly, tightening his grip on the angel as his legs trembled.

"Nearly there, Cas," he said clearly. "Just a little bit further."

"Too _bright," _Castiel whispered thickly, his voice muffled by Sam's shirt. "What's _wrong _with me..."

"You're fine, man," Sam replied steadily. "You're fine. Just you wait and see."

But Castiel's words worried him, and he couldn't hide the relief on his face as Dean appeared from the trunk of the Impala. His brother slammed the trunk shut and headed around the car, pulling the back door. Sam made for it while Dean headed around the other side, leaning in through the second open door to help.

"Here we go, Cas. In through here."

Sam guided the angel down and into the back seat of the Impala. Castiel's hand clutched at his shirt, pulling at him weakly.

"No... wait..."

"I won't be far," Sam promised. "Neither of us will. Dean and I will be right here, okay, right in front of you."

Castiel shut his eyes, breathing hard. Slowly his fingers unclenched and Sam straightened up as Dean leant into the car, muttering to Castiel. He turned and darted back into the motel, snatched up the bloodied trench coat. As he emerged into the light again Dean pulled out of the car and shut the door, striding towards him.

"What's up with him?"

"I don't know. Hoping its gonna wear off."

Dean pressed his lips together, nodding. The silence between them clearly showed their fear, their worry. Dean broke the pause first, took a deep breath, lifted his chin. "You all finished?"

"Yeah." Sam lifted the coat. "I, uh, wanna bring this."

Dean's eyes flickered to it and something passed through them. Then he nodded. The two brothers returned to the car, sliding into the front seats. Sam twisted to look back at Castiel as Dean started the engine, reversing back and to the side before speeding into the road. Castiel had lain down on his side, curled into a ball, his eyes wide and staring. Sam leant back over the seats, awkwardly throwing the trench coat over him and tucking it in. Castiel's fingers closed around the lapels, and his panicked eyes calmed slightly.

"We're right here, Cas," Sam reminded him softly.

Castiel's face softened. "Thank you," he murmured.

Somehow, Sam knew that he meant more than just the coat.

Three hours of driving later, they had all retreated into their own worlds. Dean had rock playing quietly on the radio and was singing along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat. Castiel's eyes were closed; about half an hour into the journey he had sunk into unconsciousness once more. Sam was leaning his forehead against the cool window, which was now lashed with rain as the world outside darkened. The lights of the cars passing blazed and blinked in the darkness, each pair glowing eyes of white, amber or red. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder at their extra passengar. Just to check. Just to be sure.

He noticed the three people standing at the side of the deserted highway they were now speeding along, of course he did. It was hard to miss them in the glare of the Impala's headlights. But he didn't linger on them, only passed a fleeting thought wondering why they were standing on the side of the road in the rain before going back to listening to Dean's gruff singing.

"Mamma, put mah guns a-ground,  
Ah can't shoot them, anymore,  
Tha' cold black cloud is, cummin' down,  
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door-or,  
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door, woah, woah, yeah,  
Knock-knock knockin' on heaven's door..."

What _were_ they doing anyway? Maybe they were waiting to meet someone. God, he couldn't wait to get to Bobby's. Couldn't wait for a warm house and a hot drink and just plain safety. Safety was a luxury these days. It shouldn't have to be.

"Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door...  
Knock-knock-kno-"

Dean had almost finished the chorus when the whole car suddenly flicked up into the air and rolled over in three complete turns before comming to a juddering rest on its hood, windows shattered, doors dented, mud splattered over its glossy surface. All Sam heard was the crunch of metal as his door bent in towards him, the whirl of the wind in his ears, someone shouting his name as the Imapal sammed down onto the ground... then there was nothing but darkness.

**Gasp! Well, you didn't think I'd let them off easily, did you? :D Anyone want to find out what happens next? Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thanks for reviewing, people!**

**Plus, couple of people have mentioned some similarities with my fic and another one on the net. Just to say any similarities were purely coincidental and I'm sorry for anything that was the same.**

**On a lighter note, some have noticed Dean's distance and coldness towards the whole situation which seemed a little out of character... First people to pick up on it! If anyone else is wondering, it will come in a bit later on... but for now, back to the car crash.**

* * *

Castiel surged wildly awake as the car he was lying in suddenly jerked violently off the ground. His whole body seemed to fly upwards, slamming harshly against the roof, elicting a yelp of pain. He heard Dean shout something as the car flipped around in three complete turns. It hit the ground hard on one side and the door bit inwards with a groan of screaming metal. Castiel scrambled away, panicking, his heart in his mouth, but before he could get a grip the car was twisting again. It came crashing down on its roof and stopped, rocking gently from side to side with the momentum of the rolls. Castiel found himself lying on the upturned roof, the leather seats upside down above him, his whole body searing with agony. He curled in on himself, breathing hard, trying to regain a sense of direction. Sam and Dean, Sam and Dean... where were they? He lifted his head, breathing hard through clenched teeth as pain swarmed in on him.

"Unh... S-Sam..."

He flinched. He hadn't even realized he'd moved his lips, and his voice barely sounded his own at all... then he realized that it was Dean who had spoken. He craned his neck back, searching for them. Blazing white from the world outside was still roaring through the windows, threatening to blind him, and he had to squint against it. He could still hear the rain pattering against the ground. He could just see the Winchester brothers in the seats before him, both hanging from the roof by their seatbelts, upside down. Dean was moving, rolling his head sluggishly from side to side, his arms fumbling blindly at his belt. He turned his head and Castiel saw red blood against his skin, marring his forehead, dripping from a cut somewhere on his hairline. His eyes turned to Sam, who wasn't speaking. His arms hung limply down, swinging slightly. His side of the car was crushed inwards, mottled like tin foil, gouging straight into his side. Blood was dripping steadily from his fingertips, dark and inky. Castiel swallowed hard, trying to fight away the sick feeling that was rising in the back of his throat. He still couldn't _see... _too much whiteness pressing in on him from all sides...

"Ow... _ow... _god-damn... Cas?"

Dean was talking to him. Castiel shut his eyes tightly, searched for words. His tongue was too heavy in his mouth, his words came out slurred and useless.

"Dee... Dean... what..."

"Cas?" Dean repeated, louder this time. "You still alive back there?"

Castiel nodded, wincing. "Yes..."

Dean let out a sigh, nodding slightly. He was trying to claw himself free of his seatbelt, grunting, hissing with pain. He glanced again at his brother, his movements becoming sharper now that he was fighting his way back to reality.

"Sammy? C'mon, Sammy, look at me. Wake up, man, you gotta get up. We're in trouble. Come _on, _Sam..."

Dean continued to beg, his voice growing more and more panicked as he struggled with his belt. That was when Castiel heard it - the steady, icy crunching of shoes across broken glass. Fear gripped him and he began to pull himself closer to Dean, his arms trembling, his whole body searing and stinging. He was barely six inches away when two pale trainers and a pair of jeans appeared outside the back window. A hand shot in through the broken glass, grabbed Castiel by the collar, and dragged him out roughly. He let out a yell, clawing at the hand weakly, but now it was like fighting a missile with a rake. The hand pulled him straight out of the car and up to his feet, Dean's voice ringing in his ears.

"No! _Hey! _Get the hell off him, you coward! Don't you dare touch him!"

The moment he was outside, the whole world surged in on him in a wave of sickening white light. He could pick out blurred details - the trees at the side of the road, the car, the three figures standing around them - but everything else was just blank, empty, terrifying... He gazed at the face of the man holding him, lifting him so high that he could no longer touch the floor, rain pouring down his neck, and narrowed his eyes. Israfel's vessel's features stared back at him. Castiel's stomach jerked and he glanced quickly to his right at the other two people. Zachariah... and Kushiel.

_Help... Sam, Dean, help me..._

He wanted to blow them all away with a single flick of his wrist, but there was nothing left inside these flesh and blood walls. No strength. Nothing. He gasped as Israfel's grip tightened, snatching helplessly at the other angel's vice-like grip.

"Just look at you." Zachariah's voice rang out across the road, loud and confident, dripping with sadistic joy. "You've lost it all, haven't you? And lets be honest, it didn't really take that much."

The other man moved forwards, taking long strides to bring him up to them. Castiel stared at him with wide eyes, still kicking feebly. Zachariah looked him up and down, smirked.

"Well, thank you very much for your help, Castiel. All we had to do was follow your frittzing soul and here we are. The Winchesters at last. And you..." His eyes moved from the broken Impala to Castiel and back again. He smiled, looking him up and down. "Why, you're just as helpless as they are. No... you're worse."

His hand shot out, dragging Castiel from Israfel's grip. He held him by the shoulder of his shirt, holding him up as his legs folded beneath him. Castiel grabbed his wrist, trying to pull away, but Zachariah was a million times stronger than him now. The other angel pushed his face close to Castiel's, grinning.

"You've rebelled against the will of the angels. Your disobedience has endangered the world. Do you know who else has done thing such as that? Demons. Monsters. _Lucifer._" He shook Castiel slightly, jabbed a finger at the Impala. "You're just as bad as the hell-spawned demon boy in there."

He abruptly whirled around, thrust Castiel away from him. He stumbled, fell to the floor beside the Impala. A moan of pain slipped through his lips as the impact jarred his fragile body, the stabbing whiteness all around him was tearing his mind apart... Castiel pressed both hands over his eyes, curling into a ball. He heard Zachariah moving across to the Impala, and knew with a sinking heart that there was nothing he could do to stop him.

* * *

Dean flinched in surprise as Castiel suddenly let out a harsh yell and was whisked out through the back window. He twisted in his seat.

"No! _Hey!_ Get the hell off him, you coward! Don't you dare touch him!"

Whoever it was ignored him. Before he could speak again, Castiel was gone, ripped out into the black night. Dean made a lunge for him, panic ripping through his chest. _No, no, no. _He and Sam hadn't risked everything to lose Cas now. Castiel was _not _going to die, not today, not any time soon. As he lunged forwards, the seat belt finally clicked out and Dean fell with a muffled crash to the roof of the car, gasping as the movement swung his head. He knew he had been hit hard in the forehead, but he was pretty sure that he could cope with that, despite the blood dripping into his eyes. And the nausea rising in his stomach and the spinning dizziness in his mind which threatened a concussion... _damn it. _He turned his face to Sam, who still hadn't moved. His brother's face was deathly pale, his hands swinging steadily. And Cas was outside... He froze, torn between Sam and Castiel. He could hear voices outside, Zachariah, if he wasn't mistaken. If Castiel could just keep them talking for a little longer, he could get Sam free and then figure out a plan...

Crouched awkwardly against the dashboard, Dean pulled his knife from his pocket and began to saw at the seatbelt holding Sam upside down. After a few seconds of relentless work the seatbelt suddenly broke free and Sam dropped downwards. Dean tossed the knife away and scrambled to catch his brother as he slid towards the roof. He caught him and began to inch backwards, dragging Sam with him until his brother was lying flat on the roof.

"Sammy?" he whispered. "Sammy, hey, could really use your help right now."

Sam's head lolled lifelessly to the side as Dean tapped it. He really was out of it... Dean's eyes moved to his brother's side, where the metal door had torn straight through his jacket and shirt, leaving several long gashes along his ribs. And he'd only just recovered from those previous injuries... Dean leant forwards, examining the bloody scrapes. It didn't look too bad. Most likely, Sam had hit his head and was concussed. Not that this was any comfort...

"Sammy," he called softly again, but still his brother gave no response.

_Shit, shit, shit... now what?_

He heard a sudden thump and looked up sharply. He could just see someone curled on the ground out of the back window of the Impala. Cas? He swallowed hard. He wanted nothing more than to scramble over there and check on him... but Zachariah was still outside. Instead, gritting his teeth, Dean twisted awkwardly and crawled out of the driver's window. He eased himself out through the broken glass, grimacing as the glass cut into his skin. He scrambled into the dark night on his knees, digging in his jeans for his gun. The weapon probably wouldn't help much, but it would sure as hell make him feel better. He pulled the gun out and crouched ready, listening hard.

"Hello, Sam and Dean?" Zachariah's voice was silky and laughing. "Lets not play hard to get. Come out now, please."

The glass crunched steadily beneath Zachariah's leather shoes as the angel stepped closer. He knocked on the bottom of the car; _bang, bang, bang. _Dean shut his eyes tightly.

"Come on, boys..."

Dean clenched his jaw, steeling himself, and then pushed himself upwards, swinging his gun to level it at Zachariah's forehead. His own head span wildly, but he managed to keep his balance. Zachariah's eyes fixed coldly on him, and Dean glared back. He could barely see the angel in the blackness. He cocked his gun, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"Back off, you sick bastard," he snarled. "Or I shoot you right here, right now."

"Give up, Dean," Zachariah said, smiling. "You can't kill me with that. Lets play nicely together, hmm?"

Dean's eyes flickered from Zachariah to the other two angels. He recognized Israfel and another angel who had been at the warehouse, but whose name he didn't know. God, he was in trouble. He couldn't fight them, and everyone knew it. He needed a plan, and now. He moved cautiously around the car, keeping his gun aimed at Zachariah, more to keep his image confident and assertive rather than for real protection. _Think, think, think..._

"We're not agreeing to anything," he said, doing his best to buy himself time. "You can't force us."

"Oh, I think you'll find you're wrong about that."

He was finally out in the middle of the road now. Rain lashed down on them all, plastering his hair to his head in seconds. The twin beams of the headlights of the car shone out into the darkness, turning the rain to silver where they hit it. The three angels were barely more than shadows, simmering threats in the darkness that sent chills down Dean's spine. Zachariah stepped forwards into the light, eyes glinting. Dean's eyes flicked over him and then down to the ground, searching... he caught sight of Castiel lying on his side near the back of the car, his hands pressed over his face. His heart jerked.

"Cas?" He called warily. The angel mumbled something but didn't answer. Dean glanced at Zachariah, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the gun. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Me? I think we both know he did this to himself."

Dean could feel rage boiling at the corners of his mind but he fought it back, trying to keep his head clear. He had to stay focussed, at least until he came up with a decent plan. But still, he couldn't help but curl his lip as he stared back at Zachariah.

"You sonuvabitch," he growled.

"Name calling. Little immature, isn't it? Come on, Dean, lets stop beating about the bush."

Dean shifted from foot to foot, his hand on the gun trembling. They needed help, but there was no one left... they were all screwed... a sudden flame of hope burned up in his mind. His last chance. He turned his eyes to the sky, rain beating down on his face.

"Anna!" he screamed, his voice as loud as possible. "Anna! Anna, we need you right now! Anna, please!"

"Anna?" Zachariah let out a harsh bark of laughter. "No, Dean. Anna isn't coming this time. She wouldn't be foolish enough. That little trick she pulled in the warehouse was only a ten-second deal; she can't fight all of us."

Dean glanced at him quickly, but kept shouting. "_Anna! _Hey!" Still nothing happened - no flash of white light, no sudden appearence of a saviour. Nothing. Dean swore silently, and then looked at Castiel. "Cas, call her. Cas, please, just try!"

Castiel lifted his head. His eyes gazed into Dean's, wide and fearful. "Dean," he whispered, so quietly that Dean had to strain to hear his words. "I can't see... there's light everywhere..."

Dean swallowed hard. What on earth was Castiel talking about? It was nearly eleven at night. And the way he was acting... something must be really wrong. Something he and Sam couldn't fix. Dean shook himself. Had to focus, had to get them through this.

"Please, Castiel," he repeated, trying to hold the angel's gaze.

Castiel blinked at him. Then he shut his eyes again. Dean saw his lips move, but then Zachariah was stepping forwards again, reaching out his hand.

"Enough. Its time to go now, Dean."

Dean pulled away, shaking his gun threateningly. "Hey, hey, hey!" he snapped. "You stay back."

"What're going to do?" Zachariah asked, smiling patronisingly. "Really, Dean, you're being very childish. You're coming with us now, whether you like it or not-"

"Actually, _no._ He's _not._"

Dean span around, moving quickly backwards, and then felt a grin break across his face as Anna stepped forwards. Her red hair shimmered in the rain and headlights, her eyes glittered furiously. Zachariah's face darkened, his fists clenched.

"Anna." His voice shivered with threats, warnings. "Anna, do not even think about it-"

"You've gone too far," Anna snapped back, taking another step forwards. "And you don't even see it. All you have left now is your own pride."

"So you'll choose the same side as him?" Zachariah stabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to Castiel's shuddering body. "You're ready to get down and crawl in the mud like the rest of these self-destructive monsters?"

"_You're _the monster here!" Anna retorted, her voice singing with an angelic undertone. "Just _look _what you've done to him!"

Dean's eyes moved back to Castiel as the other angels turned to look. He had rolled onto his back, fists pressed once more against his eyes, fingers digging into his forehead. In the sudden silence Dean could hear him, hear the words tumbling past his rapidlly moving lips.

"Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna..."

His endless mantra made Dean feel sick. It was as if he was watching the angel vanish into maddness, watching him whittle his brain away into insanity. He clenched his jaw, itching to get over there and do _something... _But there were still three violent angels standing between them, and there wasn't much he could do about that. He looked quickly at Anna, who was speaking again.

"You're acting like demons, all of you. It sickens me to call you my brothers."

"I refuse to hear this from one who _fell,_" Zachariah growled.

Anna returned his gaze icily. She turned her head and looked at Dean. He started as her voice whispered in the back of his mind.

_Get to Castiel, now._

She blinked, and then looked back at Zachariah. Dean raised his eyebrows, hesitating. So what, he was just supposed to run straight past Zachariah and hope he didn't get torched in the process? Anna was lifting her hand, looking steadily at Zachariah. Her words dropped from her lips like the embers of a fire.

"Then hear this."

She thrust her hand forwards - and Dean got it. He threw himself forwards, sprinting past Zachariah even as the white light flowed out from Anna's palm. As it drew level with him he made a dive for Castiel, wrapping both arms tightly around the angel's shivering body as he hit the ground. Castiel yelped in pain and fear, lashed out wildly, but Dean only gripped him tighter. He heard Zachariah shouting furiously, saw someone leap forwards and reach for them. Then Anna's light blocked out everything else and Dean felt himself torn from the ground. He clutched Castiel desperately as the angel began to slip, his arms enclosed tightly around the angel's chest. He was flying backwards, his very blood screaming in his veins, his head spinning.

He hit the ground so hard that it knocked the air from his lungs. Castiel rolled away from him and he pushed himself upright, trying not to throw up. Anna was standing nearby, panting, her body rigid. Sam lay on the floor at her feet, stirring blearily, his eyes moving beneath their lids. Dean was sitting near the door, Castiel kneeling nearby, his fingers digging into the wooden floor, his eyes tightly shut. Satisfied that everyone was still breathing - no matter how weakly - Dean turned his eyes to the room they had just appeared in. Books littered the floor and were stacked against the walls in teetering piles, a desk covered in paper with one glowing table-lamp stood near a stone fireplace, a sofa near the window... wait, he _knew _this place. He knew this room almost as well as his own reflection...

Footsteps pulled his attention to the doorway, where an older man had suddenly appeared. Bobby stared from one bloodied face to the next, his eyebrows arched. There was a long pause before anyone spoke, and even then Dean's voice was breathless and shaking.

"Surprise."

Bobby gazed at him, mouth open. "What... what in the hell... how did you..."

"We got special VIP transport," Dean replied, shaking his head. "Anna, you... you were..."

His voice trailed off as Anna lifted her head and strode straight past him to Castiel. She knelt beside him, her face the picture of grief. He didn't look at her; his eyes remained closed, his lips moving quickly as he whispered things Dean couldn't catch under his breath. Anna shifted forwards, putting her arms around him carefully in a gentle embrace. He stopped, lips still parted, eyes still gazing straight at the floor. He was still shivering violently, but as Anna held him his eyes slowly closed in a long blink.

"Oh, Castiel," she said softly, her voice almost tearful.

Dean watched them, his heart suddenly thumping hard and fast in his chest. Every bruise on Castiel's face suddenly looked horribly defined, every red scratch reminding him of the blood he had mopped off the floor barely twenty four hours ago... Dean quickly turned away, fighting down the despair and guilt that was eating at him once more.

"Help her with him, would you?" he threw at Bobby before shuffling over to Sam, his heart heavy in his chest.

**Okay, done! More to come, please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thank you sooooo much for reviewing, people!**

* * *

Castiel realized that someone was talking to him when the soft pressure against his face suddenly vanished. He hadn't noticed it come, but without it he felt a sudden flare of panic and reached out, hands snatching blindly at empty air. The stream of words flowing unconsciously from his mouth grew louder as he noticed them and latched on to them, a mantra that sang of hope for survival. His hands trembled wildly as he waved them in the blinding white light that was still swarming in on him, breaking his mind apart. In fact, his whole body was shaking and a thin film of icy sweat stuck his shirt to his back, making him feel as if he was suffocating in the matireal... He raised his voice even more, still searching for that touch, that pressure that had spoken so many volumes of comfort in its silence.

"Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna!"

It returned abruptly, and he recognised it as palms pressing against his face, breath whispering against his cheek as the faceless being replied. His eyes roved wildly over the whiteness before him, the blank blanket that had swallowed up the person. The last thing he could remember was crashing to the ground, Dean's voice shouting at him to call Anna... Anna would fix it, if only she would come everything would be alright. He had to keep trying until she replied... and yet, he could hear a voice close beside him, so close that the words broke over his skin in soft rushes of air. He slowed his prayer, trying to make out what it was saying.

"... here... Castiel... me... I'm here... you're safe now. Calm down, please. Hear me, Castiel, listen to me. You're okay, I promise you."

_Anna? _Castiel's voice slowly trailed off as he realized who was speaking to him. Anna. The fallen angel who had almost led him to freedom, the one who was stroking his forehead calmly with slender fingers. She had come, finally... as if on cue, the blinding whiteness suddenly drained away to hover in the corners of the room, lingering where the shadows should have fallen. He noticed several things at once; firstly, he was half-sitting, half-lying on a faded sofa in a room crammed with books, maps and instructions to almost every kind of ritual imaginable; secondly, Anna was kneeling on the sofa beside him, her hands on his face, her eyes gazing intently into his; thirdly, the man who Dean trusted, the one called Bobby Singer, was holding him down against the sofa, his arms straining as he struggled to restrain him; and finally, that he was fighting against them, thrashing out violently with his arms and legs, strange yells and moans spilling from his mouth. As the facts assulted his brain he felt himself freeze, and then slowly let his arms fall. Bobby released him warily, still eyeing him. Castiel could dimly register a red mark on his cheek, rapidlly deepening to a small bruise.

"He calmed down now?"

"Yes," Anna replied, her voice steady. She pushed his sweat-streaked hair back from his face, drawing his gaze over to her own. "He's fine. He'll be fine."

"What do you need? I mean, is there some kinda angel pain-killer around or do you just... I dunno, miracle heal?"

A smile flitted over Anna's face. "No. Go to Sam and Dean."

Bobby shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. "Well... first aid kit's in the cupboard," he finished at last before turning and making his way towards the stairs.

Anna ignored him. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and began to wipe tenderly at a large graze on Castiel's forehead. He must have hit his head when he went down. The sting was dull and pale, numbed as if it belonged to someone else. In a way, maybe it did. Something she had said was important, something was tugging at him insistently. He opened his mouth, his words slurring uselessly together.

"WherS'm'ndDee?"

Anna's lips curved in a small smile. "They're okay. Sam got hurt in the car - Dean's taken him upstairs to clean him up."

Castiel tried to get up - a million questions were burning in his mind; how badly was Sam hurt? Was Dean injured too? He remembered blood on both of them - but his body wouldn't move. The best he could do was roll his head to the side, fumble for Anna with the trembling fingers of one hand. Fear tore at him, screaming through his head, and the white began to rush back towards him.

"Nuh," he whimpered, trying to move away. "S'all wrong..."

"I know," Anna said softly. "I know it is."

She reached for his searching hand and held it. She was talking to him differently, although he couldn't quite work out what it was that told him this. Her voice was making him feel calmer than he should be, considering the circumstances. It made sense, in a strange kind of way. He had used the technique thousands of times before when a human's desperate pleas became too loud to ignore, and he had slipped down to Earth to crouch in the shadows of an alleyway to make a dying drug-addict's last breaths a little easier to bear, or to kneel beside a crying mother who still held the cold, dead body of her child. It was natural for him, unlike for many of his siblings. To envelop them in sympathy and distant hope as they cried, to send tendrils of joy through the heavy air to give them the strength to try again. The people never saw him. He took no host, just wavered in the air until their tears were spent, or death pulled them away from him and he had to receed. Anna used to enjoy it all. _'Its what Father wanted us to do,' _she would whisper proudly as she reached out to take the hands of a despairing, sobbing, defeated human. Like she took his hand now, like she pressed her mind against his, offering comfort and the promise of safety and reassurance.

But he wasn't human, no matter how painfully strange he felt at this moment, and he could still see the white, mist-like light creeping towards him. He turned his head towards her, holding her gaze.

"Wha...s wrong... with me?"

Grief rushed across her face and she squeezed his hand slightly, moving her thumb over his skinned knuckles. "He's blocked your flow," she replied. "You must be able to feel it."

His flow...? He blinked slowly, trying to pinpoint the place she spoke of, and almost at once pain roared through his wing joint. Darkness swarmed in on him and he heard someone screaming, sobbing in agony. Then all at once it was gone and he found himself doubled over, burrying his head in Anna's shoulder, hands fisting tightly in her jacket. She was stroking the back of his head, moving her other hand carefully over his back and over his wing... god, he could feel it now, as if she was pulling it into their dimension, slowing it down so that it could be seen by human eyes. He winced sharply as her fingers trailed through his feathers, which were matted thickly together with blood which glowed slightly blue in the dim room. She pushed it gently and he moaned, pulling at her jacket.

"D-Don't..."

"I have to. It will send you mad, Castiel. I have to fix this."

"But... hurts..."

"I know. I'm sorry." Her voice trembled, still laced with influences to try to calm him. But the pressure was getting worse and worse, and he couldn't breathe and the pain was so unbearable that he was sure he was going to die, that there was no way that he would be saved from it all...

"A-Anna... pl-please..."

She said something but he couldn't hear her anymore. The blazing white was flowing in towards him, drowning him in light. It was going to swallow him up, scream into his body and explode there, tearing him to shreds with its awesome power. He wanted to get away from it all, but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was hold on to her and pray, beg and plea that he could somehow either make it through this in one peice or just die now and let the suffering end-

And then, suddenly, the intense agony was melting away and the white glare was fading, shrinking into Anna's palm which was still flat against his wing, allowing the room around them to return to normal. Castiel gasped weakly, trying to pull air into his tight lungs, trying to ease the tense trembling rushing over him. The pain dulled to a throbbing ache, still there but nowhere near as terrible. Anna was still speaking, her voice shaking with greif and... and was that fear?

"Shh, shh... I'm so sorry, Castiel, please forgive me... shh, it's alright, don't cry... Castiel..."

It was only then that he noticed the moisture on his cheeks, the liquid forcing itself from his eyes and racing itself in drops down his face. _Don't cry? _Was this what it felt like to cry, then? The stinging heat and the stiff, stubborn lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow? It must be. Anna was hugging him tightly, rocking him, whispering to him with a voice she wasn't bothering to control anymore.

"Castiel... please, Castiel... its alright, shh, shh..."

"I d-do."

"What?"

She drew back, holding him upright by the upper arms, trying to catch his eye. Her face wavered before him, blurred and faded. He tried again, realizing with a flash of relief that he could speak a little more easily now. He looked back at her, squinting to see her properly.

"I do... forgive you," he said, managing to finish the sentence without stammering. "Thank... you."

She smiled, relaxing, and shifted away from him on the sofa. He let his hands unclench, allowed her to gently lay him down on his side. Exhaustion settled over him in a dark shroud, pulling his eyes shut. He sensed Anna move away and return within a few seconds, felt something heavy and soft drop onto him. She knelt on the floor beside him, and her thumb moved over his cheek, wiping away the hot tears.

"That's all I can do," she murmured. "I've healed as much as I can, but it'll still hurt for a while. I don't think you'll be able to fight for a few weeks at least."

Castiel didn't try to open his eyes. He was already drifting, floating in blissfully painless darkness. For once it didn't matter that it wasn't natural for him to feel so weakened. For once he was happy just to sleep... a final, razor-edge worry inched into his head and he frowned.

"Zachariah..."

"I'll do what I can."

And for now, as he sank into unconsciousness, that was enough.

* * *

Dean pressed the towel against Sam's side once more, dropping the needle down onto the nightstand and hissing a curse as blood began to well up once more. Sam cringed away from him, his body rigid as he struggled to hold back a yelp of pain.

"Ah... jeez, Dean..."

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean mumbled, not daring to ease off any of the pressure.

Sam looked like crap. His face was pale and bloodless, his lips tinged with blue from his rapid hyperventilating as Dean had started on the stitches in his already bruised skin. The area was now swollen and red tinged with blue and grey, the results of his previous injuries aggrivated even more with the four deep slashes over his side. Sweat glistened on his forehead and blood trickled down his temple from a small graze on his head. Dean was sure he was heavily concussed - he couldn't speak clearly and his pupils were so big that they almost drowned out his irises. But all Dean could see was the blood leaking quickly from his brother's side. He knew he was being irrational, that he should call for help from Bobby or at least find some decent painkillers before he continued, but his hands trembled with the need to be doing _something. _He hadn't looked back since half carrying, half dragging Sam out of Bobby's main room and up the stairs towards their usual guest room. Even so, he could still hear the angel shouting dully, repeating Anna's name over and over. It was making him feel sick. Dean finished counting to one hundred and then tossed the towel away, inspecting Sam's side again. The blood had slowed a little.

"D-De'n... wher's Cas?"

Dean grimaced, began to place another stitch, holding Sam steady with his other hand as his brother flinched away.

"Tellme... Dee, tell me!"

"He's downstairs with Bobby and Anna."

"He 'kay?"

"I, ah, I dunno, I'll check in a minute. I'm sure he's fine."

Sam snorted and then winced, squeezing his eyes shut. "Wh-What? What's wrong widyou?"

Dean kept his eyes on the bloody gashes, easing the needle through again. "I'm just tryin' to take care of you, Sammy."

"Don'tcha care? S'given up all of it... fer us, and... 'nd ya don't care?"

"Course I care-"

"So check 'im!"

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to control himself, find something to say. At that moment downstairs everything fell silent. Both Winchester's froze, glancing towards the door. Dean turned his back first, fixing his gaze on Sam's side once more.

"See, he's fine. Bobby and Anna will sort him."

"S'wrong widcha?" Sam slurred. "Suppos'd ter be your friend... ya'jus don giva damn 'bout anyone whos nota Winchester..."

"That's not true," Dean ground out through bared teeth. "You're not thinking straight, Sam, so shut up."

Sam's hand shot out and closed over Dean's wrist as he prepared to plunge the needle back in. Dean looked up to see his brother's face inches from his own, his eyes wide and shining with pain, breathing hard, his face pale.

"G-Go find-d him," Sam stuttered out. "N-Now."

Dean pulled free, scowling. "Don't be insane, Sam! I'm halfway through stitching you up, I'm not gonna leave now!"

"Jus' go. Do it maself..."

"Like hell you will."

Sam glared at him, his eyes red and bloodshot. "Y-You dick," he growled. "Spineless dick."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snarled.

"S'our fault, 'n ya doncare..."

"Don't you think I know that?" Dean demanded, louder than he had intended. "Don't you think I think about that every damn minute? Shit, Sam, don't you dare tell me that I don't give a crap because _I do!"_

"Okay, okay, time out!"

Dean whipped around, fists clenched around the needle, his eyes flashing. Bobby was stepping into the room, a plastic box in one hand and a glass of water and pills juggled in the other. He moved over to them, thrusting the box at Dean and the pills at Sam. As Sam lifted his trembling fist to his mouth to down them, Bobby glared from one Winchester to the other, arms folded.

"Whatever issues you girls scouts have, this is not the time to be bitch fighting over it, you hear me? I've just had a half-crazed angel and two bleeding men appear on my living room floor, not to mention that Anna girl looking freaked to hell. One of your angel pals has just hit me in the face and then the other ordered me out of my own room, so you boys can just hold your tongues and tell me what the hell is going on!"

Sam shut his eyes, falling back against the pillows that were propped up against the headstand and holding his bloodied side, suppressing a moan. Dean bit his lip, watching him anxiously.

"Zachariah," he said. "Sonuvabitch crashed the Impala, hurt Cas. Anna pulled us out. Now can you please talk some sense into him?"

He stabbed a finger at Sam, who looked as if he were convulsively trying to roll into a ball and stop himself at the same time, his body twitching. Bobby heaved a sigh and moved over to take Dean's place, picking up the needle.

"Hold still, Sam," he said, in a voice which commanded no arguements. "Dean, clean yourself up."

Dean frowned, confused, and then remembered the gash at his hairline which was still dripping blood down his face. He'd forgotten about that. As if on cue the adrenaline drained away and he slumped down on the second bed in the room, reaching for the first aid kit. He pulled out a wad of cotton pads and some antiseptic and began to dab gingerly at his head, biting back the curses that quivered on his tongue.

"You guys got this from the car crash?"

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "My baby flipped over, landed on her roof. Sam was out, I got stuck, Zachariah was at Cas's throat. If Anna hadn't been there..."

"How Cas," Sam slurred, twisting his face into the pillow as Bobby tied off the third of the gashes.

"I have no clue, Sam. Anna was trying to calm him down when I left."

Sam groaned and stiffened as Bobby started on the last one. Dean echoed the sound as his head seared. Bobby glanced over his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... yeah..."

"Go get some painkillers. And be c_areful, _I don't need you caving in as well."

Dean managed a short laugh and rose to his feet, moving slowly over to the door, a wad of cotton still pressed to his head. He took one look back at Sam, who had apparently succumed to the painkillers and was lying motionless as Bobby carefully bent over his side. His brother still looked way too pale, ready to drop dead at any moment... the phrase brought unplesant memories surging back, and Dean quickly turned and made for the stairs. As he reached the top of them an agonized scream rose up from the living room, torn with sobs. Dean froze, his heart jerking in his chest.

"Shit," he muttered.

He stayed where he was for a few moments, gripping the banister, listing to Castiel's screams. Then, abruptly, they trailed away into nothing. He hesitated, counting one minute, two... but he couldn't stay on the stairs forever. He just needed to go straight to the kitchen. He didn't even have to look if he didn't want to.

_"Spineless dick."_

Dean pressed his lips together, and then made his way down the stairs and turned into the doorway of the living room before he could change his mind. He arrived just in time to see Anna bending over Castiel, pulling one of Bobby's ancient rug up over his shoulders. She whispered something to him and he replied with a voice that rasped against his lips, shivered with pain and exhaustion. She replied quietly and then fell silent, her fingers moving soothingly through his hair. Dean felt an intruder for watching them - he considered returning to the bedroom, but Bobby would be furious if he came back having retrieved nothing at all. Despite the front, Bobby was just worried about them. When he told Dean to get painkillers, he _meant_ get painkillers. Dean lingered in the doorway, glancing across at the kitchen. Maybe he should just walk through...

At that moment, Anna suddenly rose to her feet and turned to face him, fixing him with her clear blue eyes. Castiel's face came into view and Dean suppressed a shudder. The angel looked ashen, the cuts and bruises amplified by his deathly complextion. His eyes were closed, and he didn't stir as Anna stepped away from him, her eyes fixed on Dean. Dean lifted his chin, fixing the mask over his face, and strode past her into the kitchen. He reached for the cupboard, searching for the painkillers. He heard her following but didn't say anything until he had found the bottle and filled a glass of water. He shook out two pills.

"How is he?"

He tried to keep his voice neutral but it still shook slightly as he put down the bottle and reached for the water. He put the pills into his mouth, sipping from the glass as she replied.

"Better than he was. Worse than I'd like him to be."

"What's wrong, exactly?"

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "We draw our power from the life around us, from everything that our Father created. When Zachariah broke his wing he caused a kind of... block. All the power was still coming in but getting stuck and building up, it was too much for him to handle."

"But you've fixed that now?"

"I hope so. But its more than that - when Zachariah tortures, he doesn't hold back. I'm worried Castiel might never be the same."

Dean's hands clenched sharply on the counter. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest, taunting him. He wet his lips, trying to think of something relaxed to say, but Anna was already speaking.

"I'm going to try and lay a false trail for Zachariah, draw him off. Will you be alright here alone?"

"Yeah," Dean said, turning and arching his eyebrow. "Course we will. We've held our own before, you know."

"Right," Anna said. "Like back on the highway when you ended up with your car on its roof and Sam nearly shredded to peices?"

"Point taken," Dean muttered. "We'll see you soon?"

She nodded, and then vanished without another word. Dean shut his eyes, collecting his thoughts as his body began to ache. He wanted nothing more than to just get upstairs and find a bed and sleep until the apocalypse was over. Peeling the cotton away from the gash at his hairline, he made his way back into the living room and stood still, looking down at Castiel. The angel was lying on his side, one hand free from the cover, probably the one Anna had been holding. He looked just as exhausted as Dean felt. The Winchester sighed heavily, pressing his fingers against his eyes.

"God, Cas," he muttered. "How the hell did it all get this bad?"

Castiel didn't reply. Not that Dean had been expecting him to. He took a step closer, trying to look over the angel's shoulder to see the wings Anna had apparently just healed. He could still see nothing, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, man," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Castiel's eyes moved beneath their lids and Dean's stomach jerked - he turned quickly and strode up the stairs. His boot caught on the top one and he stumbled, almost falling but managing to catch himself on the wall. Bobby's voice reached his ears from the bedroom.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine," he called back.

He made his way into the room. Bobby had finished with Sam and was wiping his hands clean. Sam was well and truly out of it by now, curled up with one arm curled over his injured side, his lips parted, his eyes shut. Dean sat down heavily on the other bed, craddling his head in his hands. He heard Bobby sigh, heard the footsteps as the older hunter moved over to him.

"How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Pissed. Guilty. Tired," Dean mumbled through his hands. "Anna's left to lay a false trail for the angels. Cas is downstairs. I think he's asleep."

A hand came down on his arm, pushing him firmly down onto his side on the bed. Dean lowered his hands and peered up at Bobby as the older hunter took his glass and placed it on the bedside table, reaching for the first aid box as he did so.

"What're you playing at?"

"You said it yourself - you're tired." Bobby fixed him with a stern gaze. "Get some sleep, Dean. I'll put up some wards."

"I'll help-"

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?" Bobby demanded. "Just get some rest, you idgit."

Dean watched as he turned and moved out of the room, switching off the light and shutting the door firmly as he went. He thought about going after him, but by the time he was halfway to making a decision his body had already turned leaden and his eyes were drifting closed. He couldn't fight the weariness any longer, and finally gave in and slept.

* * *

Castiel woke in what he believed to be the early hours, as a soft golden-grey light was sneaking in through the window. He lay still for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, and trying to work out what it was that had woken him. He couldn't see Anna, or the Winchesters, or the Singer man anywhere. He eased himself up gingerly, wincing sharply as pain stabbed through his body. Not as bad as the day before, but still painful. He looked around, lifting a hand to finger the new graze on his forehead. He estimated he'd been asleep for six, maybe seven hours.

_Castiel._

He froze as the voice whispered at the edges of his mind. Fear mixed with raw, vengeful rage crept through him and he rose unsteadily to his feet, his legs trembling slightly but still supporting him. He listened, head on one side, trying to ignore the pain long enough to concentrate. It came again, timid, quiet.

_Castiel. Castiel. It's me. Castiel._

He ran his tongue over his dry lips, frowning. The door wasn't far away, just across the room. He started towards it, swaying, body shaking as it struggled to take his weight. He reached for the wall as he reached the doorway, leaning heavily on it for a few moments, caught his breath. The front door was just a few meters away. He shut his eyes, took a few deep, steadying breaths, and then began to move again. He reached the front door and collapsed heavily against it, sweat beading on his forehead. Clearly he wasn't ready to start wandering around on his own just yet... he glanced up the stairs, but there was still no one in sight. He considered shouting for help, but then abandoned the idea.

This was his problem. This was family business.

He drew the seven bolts back with shaky fingers, pulled the door back and stood in the doorway, the icy morning air swirling around him like water, licking at his face. He stared through the dusty light of the dawn, down the steps of Singer's porch. A tall, blonde-haired figure was standing in the junkyard just opposite the steps, hands in pockets, waiting. Castiel gathered himself and then started forwards, reaching for the flaking railing as he made his way down the steps. He reached the bottom of them without falling and stopped, breathing hard, hands clenched into hard fists, watching the person standing around five feet away. He didn't use his angelic voice, but his human one, keeping it low and cold as he greeted the visitor.

"Israfel."

**Its not really a cliffhanger... is it? Sorry!! Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Reviews are very much appreciated, thank you so much!**

**Okay, this is more of a drabble chapter... sorry for those of you who were looking for some action! I got a few questions about Israfel, the mysterious back-stabbing traitor, and so the beginning of this chapter is going to look into him a little bit more. Enjoy!**

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* * *

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Castiel's legs were trembling again - he reached for the railing and slowly lowered himself onto the steps of the porch, pulling his knees up close to his chest as the freezing morning air whispered at him. It was such a cold morning that frost had spread over the windscreens of the broken down cars in Bobby's salvage yard, stealing over the rusting bonnets in delicate spider webs of ice. The railing was dripping steadily, Castiel's finger prints clear marks in the frost. Israfel didn't seem to notice the cold. Out in the pale yellow light of the dawn, the rays of the sun casting long shadows over the muddy ground, Castiel could have a far better look at him and the host he had chosen. He had blonde hair which lay over his forehead in a long fringe, narrowing to carefully styled spikes at the end and the roots dyed inky black. His clothes, though rumpled from Israfel's careless use of them, were designer label and had that new-but-worn look that many humans seemed to like at the moment. Israfel always had been careful about who he spoke to, who he possessed. Castiel had only ever been willing to take those who offered.

Now, Israfel shifted uncomfortably as he watched Castiel's face for a reaction, his blue eyes shimmering anxiously. He knew better than to try and approach; insteady he hovered awkwardly before the nearest heap of scrap, as if about to dive for protection. To his left, just inside the gates, Castiel could see the crumpled form of the Impala on the back of a trailer. Singer must have had someone tow it over before the police could get interested. The man must have many friends to be able to call in a favour like that in the early hours of the morning. The car was scratched and one side bent inwards, the roof mottled and torn. One headlight was smashed through. Castiel wondered if Dean would be able to repair it.

"Hello, Castiel."

It was more of a question than a greeting, a quiet venture towards conversation. Castiel returned his gaze to the other angel, his face stony and cold. His rage simmered away angrily beneath his skin, threatening to tear loose at any moment.

"I haven't brought Zachariah," Israfel said, the words tumbling from his lips in an uncertain, babbling rush. "Its just me. He sent everyone out to search for you, and I could see your light miles off. Its because we know each other so well, and so its so much easier for me to find you. But I haven't told him yet..."

Castiel blinked at him slowly, and his voice trailed off. He scuffed at the ground, and then glanced up once more.

"Are you... how are you?"

"Know thine enemey, is it?" Castiel asked dully, picking at the flaking wood beneath him. "I won't be able to fight you if you attack, if that's what you're asking."

"I didn't mean... Anna healed you, then? I saw her trail. Knew it was too easy at once, but Zachariah followed himself. He won't find her, though, if she's travelling alone. She's too quick. She helped you, right?"

"As much as she could. She's a loyal companion."

"Right, right. I thought you looked a bit better-"

Castiel lifted his head to glare at the angel once more and Israfel shut his mouth quickly, his fakely cheery tone breaking at once. He swallowed hard, pushing his hands into his pockets, and stared down at the ground. Castiel sighed heavily, the air misting before him in a soft cloud. His voice sounded tired and weary even to his own ears as he spoke.

"What do you want, Israfel?"

Israfel hesitated, and then took a few tentative steps forwards. When Castiel said nothing he took another step, so that they were only a foot apart, and crouched down on his knee so that they were on the same level.

"I just... I needed to ask you why." Castiel's eyebrow twitched. Israfel gestured at the house behind him. "Why you went through it all, just for them. Why you care so much."

"I care," Castiel said slowly, deliberately, "Because they stand and fight while others crawl away. They're doing their best to stop this war, to save the lives of millions. The Winchesters may be humans, Israfel, but they have the hearts of the warriors of God."

Israfel stared back at him, his mouth sadly turned down. "It must be nice to be that fearless," he said, his voice heavy.

"You used to be, too. You used to be brave enough to rebel against heavan."

Israfel shrugged sullenly. "Used to be," he muttered. He paused. "Do you remember her?"

Castiel blinked slowly. "Katherine," he replied, fixing his gaze on the piles of cars around them rather than the angel. "The human you fell in love with."

Israfel lowered his head. His fingers trailed through the mud at his feet, drawing simple patterns in it with a single finger. "She was so beautiful. And they burnt her when they came for me, they lit a fire on the side of her face and the last thing I heard was her screaming... She must have hated me for that."

"She didn't," Castiel said. He didn't want to empathize with the traitorus friend at all, but he couldn't help it. He'd seen Israfel over those days, he'd watched as he slipped down to Earth time and again to be with her. Seen how happy he had been, the light that had burned in his eyes like the sun when he returned. He didn't want to care, but when Israfel looked up at him with a sudden hope in his eyes, he couldn't help but continue. "She prayed day and night, asking for forgiveness, asking for your return. We couldn't answer."

"No," Israfel replied softly. "No. The only thing that kept me going while I was in hell was the thought of maybe one day seeing her again... but now I'm out, and she's been dead for years. I'm fifty years too late. Always too late."

His tone was bitter and sour and he sank further down onto his knees, his hand fisting in the mud. Castiel watched him for a few moments before speaking, pulling the coldness back into his voice.

"What about you? Why are you fighting as you are?"

Israfel shook his head. "They told me I would never have to return to hell if I worked for their trust. You don't understand what its like, down there in the pit, with the heat and the pain and..." He bit his lip sharply, then continued, his voice carefully levelled. "Just ask Dean Winchester what he would have said if he'd had the chance to get out sooner."

There was a pause as he looked up at the house, running his eyes over the windows. No doubt searching for the brothers, checking they were there. Castiel watched him, hands curling into fists. If he did try anything, Castiel would give all he had to stop him, no matter what that price was. But Israfel didn't attack, he simply looked away again and turned his gaze to the rising sun.

"They really care about you, don't they?" he muttered. "To come after you like that. But then, you always did have a way with people, didn't you? You just had to hint at something and everyone would rush to help you. I never could work out what you did to make them like that around you-"

"That's the whole point," Castiel snapped, his eyes narrowing as Israfel turned to look at him, eyebrows raised at his sudden sharpness. "You don't _make _people do things, Israfel. You earn their respect and you stay loyal. People chose which path they take."

Israfel's eyes flashed slightly. "I didn't _have _a choice!" he argued. "I'm not like you, Castiel! I'm not strong and vengeful and brave like you self-riteous warriors so obviously are. For what I've done, I'm sorry, but if Zachariah gives me an order then I must follow it, or I'll be thrown back into the pit. And I will _not _go back there, not for anything." He held Castiel's gaze, his jaw clenched. "Call me a coward if you wish. I won't do it."

Castiel shook his head slightly, pinning his gaze on the floor once more. Israfel remained silent for a few moments, pressing his lips together.

"Before... when we were in the warehouse... you told me you couldn't forgive me."

Castiel inclined his head in a slight nod. Israfel ran his tongue over his lips.

"Did... did you mean that?"

"Every word." Israfel flinched slightly, but Castiel didn't look at him. "You should leave."

Israfel rose slowly to his feet, hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don't understand-"

"I'm sure," Castiel muttered. "Just ask yourself this, Israfel - if you've made the choice to stay with Zachariah, why haven't you told him where we are?"

"I'm just following his orders," Israfel replied, his voice flat. "He told me to look for you. He didn't tell me to bring you to him."

He turned and strode away towards the middle of the scrapyard. Castiel kept his eyes on the wooden steps, his face stone hard. He spoke up as Israfel reached the centre of the muddy space.

"You had better be sure you've made the right choice, before you go too far."

Israfel stopped. The two of them remained still for a few moments, locked in the strength of the phrase. Then Israfel lifted his hand and vanished into nothingness, leaving Castiel alone on the porch as the sun rose into the sky, a hollow victory in itself.

* * *

Dean woke early and lay still on his back, feeling the soft bend of the bed beneath him and the gentle throb of pain in his head which had dulled considerably since the day before. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, and then rolled upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced around. Sam was lying in the exact same position he had fallen asleep in, his arm still curled over his side, facing the wall. Dean considered waking him but then glanced at his watch and realized that it was only eight o'clock. He would let Sam sleep a little longer. Near the door was a heap of duffel bags, and he felt a small glow of gratitude towards Bobby. The older hunter must have retrieved the Impala somehow and got their bags. Dean made a mental note to make it up to him... somehow.

He rose to his feet and wandered blearily across the corridor and into the bathroom. He took a shower, relishing the pitter patter of hot water on his aching muscles, then changed into some clean clothes and headed back out into the corridor. He headed down the corridor to the second flight of stairs and peered up them. The door at the top was shut, which meant that Bobby was upstairs, no doubt asleep after the eventful night. Dean returned to his own room to collect his smaller handgun and check on Sam - still hadn't moved, still breathing loudly - before jogging downstairs without waking either of them.

Halfway down the stairs, his neck began to prickle uneasily. He glanced around warily, his hand moving to his handgun which was tucked into his jeans. Something was different... then he got it. The living room door was open. He quickened his pace, striding quietly over to it and leaning into the room. The blanket lay on the floor in a crumpled heap, the sofa deserted. Dean's heart skipped a few panicked beats and he turned sharply, pulling the gun out. A thousand suggestions leapt through his mind, each crazier than the last, before he finally caught sight of the front door, also hanging open, cool morning air whispering into the hall. Dean hesitated, then started cautiously forwards and, flattening himself against the wall, looked carefully out into the scrap yard.

The first thing he saw was the Impala, lying in a crumpled heap on the top of a trailer just inside the gates. The last of the early morning frost was melting to dew in the rays of the rising sun. Dean looked around, leaning out of the doorway, and then jumped as Castiel turned his head to look up from the bottom of the steps to the porch. His navy shirt and black hair had blended in with the flaking paint, rendering him invisible. Dean let out a long breath and stepped outside, lowering his gun.

"Christ, Cas, what're you doing out here?"

Castiel raised and lowered his good shoulder in a shrug. Dean shook his head and pushed his gun back into his jeans, flicking the safety back on. He headed over to the angel, reaching for his arm, and then let go in surprise.

"Wow... Cas you're freaking freezing!"

Castiel shivered and folded his arms, arching one eyebrow. "Oh. I thought I felt different."

Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and took the angel's arm once more, pulling at him gently. "C'mon, lets just get back inside, huh?"

Castiel rose slowly to his feet, allowing Dean to lead him back into the house. Dean shut the door behind them and locked it once more, checking all of the locks before sheperding Castiel through into the kitchen. He sat the angel down in one of the chairs, ducked into the living room to retrieve the blanket and thrust it at him on his way over to the sink. Castiel took it with a look of mild surprise, his fingers red from the icy air. And just like that, it all came surging back and Dean quickly turned his back, reaching for the mugs in the cupboard to his left. The silence of the room pressed in on him, and he clattered the mugs loudly in a failing attempt to mask it.

"You want anything to eat?"

"No, thank you."

Castiel's voice was quiet. Dean bit his lip, trying to concentrate on the coffee. Maybe if he just didn't look at him, he wouldn't think about it and he would be able to just blank his way through the moment. He was just being stupid about it all, none of it _really _mattered. It wasn't as if he could change anything anyway. He pulled a carton of milk from the fridge and began to pour it into the steaming mugs.

"Israfel came to me this morning."

Dean flinched and milk sloshed out of the carton, splattering over the counter. He swore loudly and slammed it down, reaching for a tea towel, a rag, a roll of paper, anything to mop up the spillage.

"What?" he demanded as he pushed the mugs away from the spreading liquid, his voice harsher than he had meant. "What the hell do you mean? He came _here?"_

"Yes. He wanted to speak with me."

"Wanted to...?" Dean stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "Cas... what the hell? When the backstabbing enemey turns up at your front door, you shout for us, you don't just casually mention it afterwards!"

Castiel lifted his head to look at him. "He wanted to talk. So I talked. And the 'backstabbing enemey' used to be one of my closest siblings."

Dean closed his mouth quickly, instantly guilty and then turned away and began to mop up the milk. "I know, but he's not now, is he? Look, its just... its dangerous, okay? And your condition..."

"I do not need to be reminded of my condition."

Dean searched for words, came up with nothing. Castiel's voice wasn't at all angry, simply serious and quiet, but it still somehow managed to make Dean uncomfortable. He finished with the milk and tossed the sopping tea towel into the sink. He took a second carton from the fridge and finished with the coffees, turning and placing one on the table in front of Castiel.

"Here. Might warm you up."

Castiel blinked, but obidiently took a few sips. Dean leant back against the counter, sipping a bit of his own drink. He couldn't help but wish it was alcohol, despite the time.

"So, what did he say? Do we need to make a run for it while we can?"

"I do not think so. He is very confused at the moment."

"He's not the only one."

"He will not tell Zachariah where we are, but he still works for him. I suggest we leave before Zachariah finds us, though."

"Yeah, no shit," Dean muttered. He glanced at the stairs, wishing someone, anyone, would come down and join them so that he could just find and excuse to leave... no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Bobby appeared, jogging down the stairs and hurrying into the kitchen. Dean stood up, forcing a grin.

"Hey, Bobby, made you a coffee..."

Something about the look on his face made him stop. Bobby looked downright scared. He looked at Dean, mouth set. The words that passed his lips sent chills of fear down Dean's spine.

"Sam has a fever."

**Yeah, shorter chapter and a meaner cliff hanger... sorry, guys! But I think you can all see the hurt! and limp! Sammy coming right up... :D Please review!**

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	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean! Lyrics belong to Bon Jovi.**

**Thank you for the reviews!**

**Just been alerted to an, ahem, small flaw in my fic... as of Season 5, Bobby's in a wheelchair. Whoops! Sorry! Lets all just pretend that Castiel healed him with his awesomeness and leave it at that... :)**

**Also, apologies if my writing is a little off today. Just been to the orthadontist who has HUGE fingers and is not all that gentle. Lucky me... **

* * *

Dean knelt down beside Sam's bed, swearing as he cast his gaze over him. He should have known someone was wrong. He should have checked on him properly before going downstairs. Hell, he should have at least noticed that Sam's breathing was dangerously laboured, his skin covered in glistening sweat, his face flushed with heat. Bobby had turned the younger Winchester onto his back, and his shirt hung back to show the cause of the temperature. The four gashes in his side were swollen and red, straining against their stitches. Dean felt his heart sink rapidly in a rush of anger at himself. He hadn't cleaned them out properly the night before, he must have missed something... he reached out and moved a hand over Sam's face, wincing at the heat flowing from the younger man's body.

"Shit," he muttered. _"Shit..."_

"We must have missed something last night," Bobby said, moving closer. "His temperature's 102.8."

Dean didn't miss how Bobby said 'we' but that didn't make him feel any better, and nor did the sound of Sam's temperature. He pushed Sam's sweat slicked hair back from his forehead and his brother's eyes fluttered, rolling blindly towards him. His voice was pale and breathy, whispering past his dry lips.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, hey, man," Dean said, forcing his voice to remain casual. "How're you doing there, bro?"

Sam shook, making eye contact with Dean as he took his brother's arm. "Bobby said... gotta temperature," he shivered out. "But m'fine. S-Shouldn't we exorsize him?"

"Who?"

Sam's eyes flicked towards Bobby and Dean glanced up, arching one eyebrow. The older hunter spread his hands slightly in a 'don't look at me' gesture. Dean turned back to Sam, suppressing a groan.

"No, Sammy," he said. "Bobby's not possessed right now, so we don't have to."

Sam blinked in confusion. Dean patted his arm and looked again at Bobby. Bobby nodded slightly and moved out of the room, past Castiel who was leaning against the doorway. Dean heard the bathroom door open, heard the gentle rush as Bobby turned on the taps in the bath. Usually they wouldn't resort to those kinds of measures until a later stage, but right now there was no time to waste. Especially if Israfel was hanging around, and if Sam was already sinking into delirium. God, they just couldn't catch a break right now...

"Is he alright?"

Dean looked over his shoulder as the angel spoke. Castiel was watching Sam with his dark blue eyes, something akin to curiosity flickering in their depths. He nodded shortly.

"He'll be okay, we just need to get his fever down. He's not quite in his right mind."

Castiel's brow furrowed but before he could ask more, Sam suddenly spoke up again, his hand gripping Dean's sleeve tightly, his voice suddenly thick with tears.

"Dean... I'm so sorry, so sorry. If I hadn't been born none of it would've happened... god, Dean, please forgive me..."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said forcefully, pushing his hand away. After several past occasions of trying to reason with a fever-stricken brother at various ages, he had grown used to what Sam said and did. "I don't blame you for anything, you hear me? You listening?"

Sam shut his eyes tightly, and then shivered again. "I feel really... weird," he whispered.

"I know, man, I know," Dean replied, lowering his voice again with Sam's changing mood. "We'll get you back to normal soon as possible, promise."

Castiel was still watching them, head cocked to one side, one hand still gripping the doorway for support. Dean wished the angel would just leave already, but he seemed almost facinated by what he saw. Probably never seen Sam like this before. Dean was just seconds off telling him to back off when Bobby appeared, moving into the doorway again.

"Bath's ready. I'm gonna get some pills, you okay to deal with him by yourself?"

Dean nodded. They both knew that Bobby was only skipping the part of the conversation where he offered to help and Dean stubbornly refused. To his relief, Bobby turned to Castiel as Dean got to his feet and put a hand on the angel's shoulder, steering him gently out into the corridor.

"C'mon, Cas. You want me to take a look at you? How're you feeling today?"

His voice trailed away down the stairs, Castiel's footsteps plodding reluctantly after him. Dean scooped up Sam's duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder before taking hold of his brother under the arms and hoisting him up to his feet. Sam swayed for a moment, and then half-fell, half-leant against him, his hand moving up to hold onto Dean's shirt. Dean wrapped his free arm around his brother's waist and began to move slowly towards the bathroom, stopping every few seconds to let Sam catch his balance again. Sam mumbled something to him as they crossed the corridor, but Dean just nodded and pulled at him softly. He knew better than to try and engage his brother in conversation now - Sam was way past that stage.

Bobby's bathroom was small and laid with white tiles. Most of the space within was taken up by a large bath, a showerhead rising up on a metal pole from beneath the water so that it could be used for either purpose. It was already full of tranquil turqoise water, rippling gently as steady drips from the tap pattered through the surface. Dean dropped the duffel onto the floor before sitting Sam down carefully on the edge of the tub and beginning to strip off his shirt. Sam gazed blearily up at him, hands hanging limply at his sides.

"You do like Cas really," he mumbled as Dean pulled off his undershirt and tossed it to the floor. "You act like you don't... but I think you do."

"I do," Dean replied, struggling to pull Sam's jeans down with only one hand while the other held his brother steady.

"But... but you don't... act like it," Sam said, frowning as if the sentence was too complicated for him. "You don't look at him anymore, not really, like you're mad..."

"I'm not mad," Dean said wearily.

He was all too used to the tone Sam was taking on. He sounded like a five year old again, his voice small and questioning and confused... and holy crap, the puppy eyes were back and being directed straight at _him. _Dean sighed and managed to get Sam's jeans off, letting them fall to the ground. He took hold of Sam again, placing his legs over the edge of the tub before wrapping his arms around his brother's chest and leaning over to lower him in.

"C'mon, then, Sammy. Lets get you in the water now - _shit!"_

Sam had just leapt a mile, arms wrapping around Dean's neck in a death grip, eyes wide, almost pulling Dean straight into the water. "No! Dean, don't let me in there! I don't want to, I don't want to, Dean please, don't make me..."

"Calm down, Sam," Dean said through gritted teeth, doing his best to stay upright and out of the bath as his brother clung to him desperately. "Its just a little water, it'll make you feel much better, okay? So just let go of me and-"

"Noooo," Sam whined pathetically, burrying his head in Dean's shoulder. "Please, please, Dean, please, it'll _hurt."_

Dean took a deep breath and then sat down on the edge of the bath, wrapping his arms around Sam's shuddering, heart-ridden body. Sam shifted closer, still holding himself out of the cool water, still holding tightly on to his brother. Dean shut his eyes, trying to take himself back to when he had been much smaller and the world had been just that little bit simpler... of course, things hadn't really been that much different. Back then there had only been one way to calm Sam down, and that was a method he hadn't used for a good few years now. He tried to move Sam down a little, but his brother simply tightened his grip. Dean gave in. He held Sam for a few moments, trying to remember the first few words. Then he cleared his throat and began to sing gruffly, stumbling over a few of the words, his voice lilting in and out of tune.

"Alarm clock rings, six forty five, musta hit that... that snooze button least three times... um... on any other day, just might wanna die, and the traffics backed up twenty miles to the east..." Sam stilled slightly in his arms, sniffing. Dean shut his eyes, damn sure that Sam better not remember this when he was himself again. "Um, its a... no, um, weatherman says its gonna rain for a week, hey what can you do..."

"On any other day... be blue eyes crying," Sam mumbled, his grip loosening slightly. "Tell t'world... least m'trying..."

Dean let a breif smile break across his face as Sam began to relax and lowered his brother into the water. Sam cringed back against the side of the tub but allowed Dean to begin scooping water up and over his head and shoulders, easing him down onto his back as he continued to sing, Sam joining in every few words, eyes staring vacantly at the wall.

"The clouds're breaking, sun is shining new, for me and you... on any other day, might just go crazy, the grace is knowin' you're gonna save me... maybe luck and love will pull us through..."

He let his voice trail off, concentrating on cupping water in his hands and pouring it over Sam's head. Sam shuddered, wincing, but kept humming softly, shutting his eyes tightly. Dean felt a sudden pang for those 'road trips' he had taken with his brother and dad, roaring along in the Impala demanding to hear that Any Other Day song over and over and singing along at the top of his voice with Sam copying him from the back seat until their father switched the radio off and said that if they sang that effing song one more time he was going to torch the tape in his next salt and burn job. Sam had fallen silent uncertainly but Dean had just laughed and carried on singing. And after a few moments, both Sam and John would eventually join in...

"Wish Dad was singing it too," Sam mumbled, as if reading his mind.

Dean nodded, going down on his knees beside the tub. "Yeah," he muttered. "Me too, kiddo."

* * *

Castiel could still hear Sam sobbing and shouting even from down in the kitchen. Singer was clattering cups and plates around for no real reason, maybe uncomfortable with Castiel hearing the noise, but he was doing a very bad job of masking it. Castiel leant back in the kitchen hair and fingered his side cautiously. He had declined Singer's offer to 'take a look' at him, deciding to keep to himself for now. It wasn't that he didn't trust the older hunter. He just didn't trust him as much as Sam and Dean. Now, moving his hand carefully over his middriff, he was encouraged to find that he only felt pain in his chest and shoulder where the metal rods had bitten through his skin. As for the mortal wounds... he moved his right arm experimentally, bending and straightening it. Only a slight twinge. And as for the cuts over his chest... he pressed each in turn. Only a dull throb. Thanks to Anna, it seemed that at least a few of his angelic characteristics were returning, even if he still felt as if he had been thrown over a waterfall and then run over several times after washing up on the shore. But the wing... he hesitated, and then dared to flex it slightly. Instantly agony shot through him and he grabbed the table to stop himself from tipping straight off the chair, unable to restrict a gasp of surprise and pain from shooting from his lips. Singer turned at once, searching for the source of the sound.

"Castiel? You alright?"

Castiel nodded breathlessly. Singer paused, and then picked up the coffee Dean had made earlier and sat down opposite the angel, sipping from it slowly. Castiel left his wing well alone and listened for the brothers once more, but now he couldn't hear anything at all.

"Its gone quiet," he announced.

"Yeah," Singer said. "Dean always was the best one to be with Sam when he was sick. Had the magic touch."

"How long until Sam recovers?"

Singer paused, thinking. "I would say... at least a week until he's back to his usual self. Couple of days before he's talking coherently again. These things take time."

"Time we may not have," Castiel replied. "Israfel - one of Zachariah's angels - he came to me this morning to talk."

Singer's eyes widened and he put down the coffee cup too quickly so that liquid sloshed over the side. Castiel watched as he cursed and snatched a tea towel from the counter behind him, his reaction remarkably similar to Dean's.

"They know where you are?" he asked. "How long until they get here?"

Castiel shook his head. "I do not think Israfel will betray me," he said. "Although there is no doubt that they will find us eventually. I would say we have three days at the most before Zachariah tracks me down."

Singer paled and rubbed a hand across his mouth. "Wards," he said at last. "We can put up some more protection, and as soon as Sam's stronger you can all switch town before he gets a hold on you."

Castiel shrugged slightly. Truth be told, he didn't believe that putting up more wards would make much difference. If they wanted to escape from Zachariah, he, Castiel, would have to leave as soon as possible. His life was a neon sign to other angels. But he had no doubt that if he did leave now, he would barely make it half a day on his own. This humane weakness had taken him over like a plague. But how much longer could he be a burden to the Winchesters, endanger their lives so much?

He rose to his feet, walked away into the living room, and Singer didn't call him back. He sat down on the sofa and cradelled his head in his hands, testing his mind. His call was too quiet to make any real difference, but he could still try... he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, pushing the words out into space.

_I'll need a signal. I'll need a signal. I'll need a signal..._

He repeated the message until his hands began to shake and his head started to throb painfully. Then, satisfied that he had done all he could, he sat back against the cushions and shut his eyes. Ten minutes later a reply came whispering through the air. Nothing definate, but enough to give him hope.

_I'll try._

**Again, this chapter was a bit more of one of those in-between chapters... although it did have some stuff for Sammy lovers! Don't worry, the action picks up again in the next chapter. Like? Bored? Please review!**

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	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thanks for reviewing!**

* * *

Sam felt completely drained. His lifted a trembling hand to his aching head and pushed his damp hair back, wincing as the movement sent a throb through his skull. He hadn't felt this sick in a very, _very _long time. He ran his tongue over his dry lips, suddenly noticing how his throat felt like sandpaper and his stomach irritatingly empty. He wanted nothing more than to get up and go in search of the M&Ms Dean always kept in the back of the Impala and a bottle of water, but he felt that if he got up he would risk disintergrating into a pile of shaking mush. He lay still for a few moments, contemplating which was worse - starving or dissolving - before cracking his eyes open. The ceiling wavered into sight above him. Not a typical motel ceiling... no, that's right, he was at Bobby's. They all were. All including Castiel. Sam turned his head gingerly, wincing, and squinted across the room. The opposite bed that Dean usually occupied was empty, as was the rest of the room. He frowned, and then lowered his gaze suspiciously. Sure enough, Dean was curled up against the wall beside his bed, a half-filled bottle of water dangling from his slackened grip, his head tilted backwards, knees drawn in to his chest. Sam groaned. Something bad must have happened to him - Dean never forsook his bed for the floor unless he was worried.

Sighing, Sam braced both hands against the bed and slowly, carefully, drew himself upright. His head span and throbbed, complaining the movement loudly, but he ignored it and scooted backwards to lean against the wall, hissing as his side pulled tenderly. He glanced down at himself, realizing that he was wearing sweats and a t-shirt that he did not remember going to sleep in, and pulled the lip of his t-shirt upwards. He winced at the sight of the four angry slashes in his side, clearly the result of his rollercoaster ride in the Impala. All were redder than he would like but level and carefully stitched. Sam pushed his shirt back down. His whole body ached and shook as he moved with tiny shivers that seemed to rush from his head to his toe within seconds. The water in Dean's hand looked good, and the idea of a hot shower even better... It was too good to pass up, and he was awake now anyway. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, took a moment to steady himself, and then rose to his feet.

At once the whole world tilted dizzyingly to the side and the ground jerked out from beneath him, sharp stabs of pain snarling through his head. Sam saw the ground rushing up to meet him, powerless to defend himself as it surged rapidlly towards his face-

Two wiry arms suddenly appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around his chest and halting his fall with a jolt. He let out a yelp as his head screamed in objection and black dots obscured his vision. A voice filtered through his muddled brain, instantly recognizable.

"Jesus, Sammy, you're such an idiot... c'mon, up you get... that's right... okay, now..."

"M'not an idiot," Sam said thickly through lips that seemed to move too slowly as his brother pulled him upright and sat him down again on the bed. He blinked hard, squinting through the fading darkness to see Dean sit down on the bed beside him and place a hand on his forehead, the other arm still curled securely around his shoulders. Sam swatted his hand away, scowling.

"Gerroff me, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean replied flippantly. He reached for a thermometer on the bedside table and stuck it into Sam's ear, gripping him tighter as he tried to pull away.

"Jerk," Sam muttered. And then, because he truly had no idea, "What happened?"

"You had a fever," Dean answered, studying the thermometer intently. "Must've had an infection of some kind. Had to dunk you in the bath for ages. You cried and screamed like a little girl."

Sam felt heat creep into his cheeks, and not because of his temperature. The idea of Dean stripping him off and bathing him like he was a little kid again was just... terrible. He cleared his throat.

"Did not."

"I was there, man, you did."

Sam scowled, trying to hide his embarressment. Dean finally took out the thermometer, looked at it, and put it down. He put his hand to Sam's head once more. Sam twisted his face into the most disgruntled expression he could muster and glared until Dean finally let go.

"Well, you're temperature's gone down. Not a hundred percent, but better than last night."

He reached for the water bottle and held it out. Sam took it and drank it all, relishing the feel of cool liquid against his dry throat. Dean watched him like a hawk, eyebrows pulled together in a critical frown.

"So, where were you creeping off to?" he asked as Sam finished.

"Bathroom," Sam replied.

"Couldn't have called me first?"

"You _want _to come?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I _don't_ want you face first down on the floor."

Sam pushed his hand off and took a few deep breaths before rising slowly to his feet. His head swung a little, but this time he managed to stay vertical. He waited for his head to calm down and then turned to face Dean, spreading his hands.

"There. I'm fine. Now can I have a shower?" Dean hesitated. Sam raised his eyebrows. "You wanna come with me?"

"No," Dean said. "Fine. Just be careful, okay? And leave the door unlocked."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said.

He turned and moved out of the room and across the corridor. His legs shook beneath him but he kept his balance, kept moving. He made it into the bathroom and shut the door before sinking down on the side of the tub, letting out a long breath at the relief of sitting down. He took a few moments to catch his breath, and then began to pull of his clothes. His side seared with pain as he pulled off his t-shirt, and afterwards he had to take a few seconds before the nausea in his stomach settled. Then he climbed into the bath and turned on the shower, standing awkwardly to keep his injured side out of the spray. The hot water was heaven to his aching limbs, settling deep into his skin and relaxing his taught muscles. He leant against the tiled wall, closing his eyes. Maybe he could just stay here for the rest of his life, no destiny, no apocalypse, no demons, no angels... if only. After another ten minutes or so he turned off the water and reached for a towel, blotting the water from his soaking hair. He had barely climbed out of the bath and started to dry himself - careful to just dab the tender areas - than there was a loud knock on the door.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he called back. "Go away, Dean."

There was a sulky 'humph' from outside and then the sound of retreating footsteps. Grinning, Sam began to towel his hair dry.

* * *

By the time he got downstairs, Dean and Bobby were sitting around the table in the kitchen. Castiel, however, was nowhere to be seen. Sam looked around as he reached the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the wall to ground himself in case his head decided to skip out on him again. His knees still trembled when he stood still for too long, but no longer when he walked, and that was some comfort at least. He felt a small twinge of worry as he realized that Castiel didn't seem to be anywhere. He continued into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway and leaning against the frame.

"Where's Cas?"

Dean glanced up and looked up up and down with that persistent mother-hen quality only a concerned older brother could pull off. It was Bobby who answered, pointing at the window as he spoke.

"He's outside on the porch. Been going out there a lot."

"Right," Sam said, looking over his shoulder at the front door. Talking to the angel was top of his list of things to do... well, almost. He made his way over to the table and sat down in the free chair, opposite Bobby and beside Dean. "So, what'd I miss?" he asked, smiling wearily. "Any demons turn up to eat our brains?"

Dean dug in his pocket for something, pushing a glass of water towards Sam as he did so. It was Bobby who answered, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair.

"Not yet," he said. "But you boys really are in at the deep end this time. Zachariah's not giving up easily, and as far as I know you'd be better off out of the country right now."

"Least he doesn't know we're here yet," Sam replied. Bobby and Dean exchanged glances, and Sam's eyes narrowed. "He _doesn't _know we're here, right?"

Dean pulled a box out of his pocket and popped out two pills, holding them out to Sam. Sam took them and gulped them down with the water, his eyes still moving warily from one to the other. Eventually, Dean replied.

"Yesterday morning Cas had a little visit from his ex-buddy Israfel. Cas says he won't tell Zachariah where we are, but if Israfel can find us than so can Zachariah without too much trouble."

"Damn it," Sam muttered, brushing a hand over his face. "That's freaking great... then we should leave as soon as we can, right?"

"No," Dean said at once, sitting up a little straighter. "No. You're not strong enough to go back on the road yet. We can leave tomorrow, maybe the day after."

"Dean!" Sam looked at Bobby for support, but the older man just lifted his hands. "We can't just sit here and wait to be found. We have to get moving before they start to figure out where we are. I mean, if Israfel knows, then they could already be on their way-"

"No," Dean repeated stubbornly. "You're not ready, and neither is Cas. It would be worse for us to leave only for you to pass out in the middle of a fight."

"I am _not _going to pass out," Sam growled. "I'll be _fine. _Besides, we'll be in a car. Just how much fighting are you thinking of doing?"

"Yeah, about that car," Dean shot back, "Are you planning to magically click your fingers and rebuild the Impala in five seconds flat? Because she's in a pretty bad way, and Bobby says the soonest he can get the stuff to fix her is gonna be three days time."

"You could always borrow one from me," Bobby began, but Dean turned and icy glare on him. Bobby raised his eyebrows and rose to his feet, shaking his head. "Fine, fine, I'll bite my tongue."

"We can take a bit more time over this," Dean growled at Sam. "Rushing off when we're not prepared isn't going to get us anywhere good."

"Neither is sitting on our asses and hoping that Zachariah will look the other way! Hell, Dean, if Israfel came yesterday... we've already been here two days, including today, and that's two days too long!"

"Stop being such a drama queen! We've got wards, protection, Anna's leading them off, we should be fine for a little longer! Please, Sam, at least until you've got your strength back."

Sam glared at the table. He hated it when Dean played the big brother card. The 'I'm doing this because I'm worried about you' tone. He pushed himself up to his feet and headed towards the door.

"Where're you going?" Dean called after him, twisting to watch.

"To see Cas," Sam replied without turning around.

"You want something to eat?" Bobby added.

Sam remembered his earlier hunger, but at the mention of food his stomach suddenly clenched tightly, making him feel sick. He shook his head quickly, trying to ignore the pain, and continued to the front door. It was ajar, a sliver of light visable in the dark hallway. Sam pushed it open and stepped outside.

Castiel stood in the large, dusty space just in front of the porch, turned towards the heaps of scrap which towered around the house, one hand reaching out to his side. He was wearing his beigie trench coat, washed clean if a little crumpled, but underneath he still wore the jeans and flannel shirt Sam had helped him into back at the motel. As Sam stepped forwards, making his way carefully down the steps of the porch, he realized that a large lump of twisted metal was hovering in the air over to Castiel's right, a few feet from his outstretched hand. As he watched Castiel slowly guided the metal up, down, nearer, further, span it in a full circle. His hand grew rigid, like a claw, and the metal slowly twisted in on itself even further, ending up a rough sphere. Castiel lifted it, moving it over his head and allowing his left hand to take over. He brought the metal closer to him, until it floated just a few inches from his face, and then abruptly let it fall.

Sam leant against the wall of the house as he spoke. "You're looking better, then."

Castiel turned slowly to face him, his face set in that typical serious angelic look he had worn when Sam had first met him. The angel cocked his head slightly, and then walked slowly over to him.

"I am better than before," he said slowly. "But not as powerful as I once was. You, too, are looking well."

"Better than before, right?" Sam said, smiling. "You heard from Anna?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. But I'm not worried. I feel sure that she is alive."

Sam didn't ask how. Instead, he sat down on the steps of the porch, absently massaging his temple with his right hand as Castiel stopped in front of him, pulling his trench coat straight. Sam gestured to it.

"You got your coat back, huh?"

He nodded. "Your friend, Singer, returned it to me. He's a good man."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, nodding. He was glad to see Castiel back in the coat; it made the angel look less vulnerable and more... well, more like Castiel. Sam hesitated before continuing, keeping his voice level. "So, ah, the others told me about Israfel."

"I know that none of you trust him," Castiel said flatly. "You have good reason not to."

"What do you think?"

Castiel shook his head. "I do not know. In this body, in this form, it is too easy to let human emotions creep into your judgement. I want to trust him. But the more I talk to him, the more I believe that he is past my help."

Sam looked down at the ground. Castiel's words made all to much sense. "I don't know if they've told you-"

"Dean wishes to stay," Castiel interrupted. "And you do not. I heard."

"Do you think we have time?"

Castiel's eyes slid away towards the scrapheaps. "Your guess is just as good as mine."

Sam pressed his fingers into his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. Why couldn't there ever be a straight answer? Why did everything have to depend on ifs and buts and maybes? He opened his mouth to ask Castiel what Israfel had said exactly, but at that moment there was a sudden flare of bright fire in the open space before the porch, a rush of heat and light about three feet off the ground. It burned bright blue, almost blinding, and Sam froze as he stared at it. It was entrancing, gripping, beautiful... and then it was gone, licking into nothing within just seconds of its appearence. Sam blinked, dots dancing before his eyes as if it had been burned into his eyeballs.

"Holy crap..." He whispered breathlessly. He looked quickly up at Castiel, who was standing motionless, his eyes rivetted on the place where the flame had been. "What was that?"

Castiel's eyes were flickering with something between surprise and fear, two things with sent chills down Sam's spine. Sam rose to his feet, reaching for the angel's shoulder.

"Cas?"

"That," Castiel said quietly. "Was a signal."

"A signal?"

"More of a warning," the angel replied quietly.

"A warning for _what?"_

Castiel's mouth was set in a firm line, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Someone's coming," he said. "And they're coming to kill us."

**

* * *

**

Sam was shouting to Dean before he was even in the house. Castiel followed him, quickening his pace as much as he could without paining his shoulder. His heart thudded with panicked anticipation, his palms were already becoming sweaty with cold fear. He reached the kitchen to find it roaring with raised voices, Sam shouting to Dean, Dean shouting to Sam, Singer shouting to both of them... Castiel frowned as snatches of the conversation surged in on him, overlapping each other in waves of sound.

"...out now! They're on their way, Cas _saw _them..."

"...panic room, it'll be safer with more protection..."

"...only demons, not angels, grab a car out back and run for..."

"..._time! _Freaking hell, Dean, we need..."

"...someone get the bags and we'll..."

"...don't know, it just appeared..."

"...be sure its real, not just a..."

"Just get the bags," Singer shouted, raising his voice above the din the other two were making. "Get your stuff, take a car and drive as fast as you can."

Dean hesitated, but then nodded and moved towards the door. Castiel stepped sharply to the side, blocking his way, his eyes narrowing.

"There's no time to get a car," he replied. "They'll be here in less than thirty seconds."

"Thirty...? What the... _Shit!_" Dean yelled, slamming a fist down. "What the hell do we do?"

"We run," Castiel replied shortly, moving his gaze to Sam. "We run and we hide until they leave. Singer can stay - they won't enter if they know we're not here. They'll simply pass over."

Sam had both hands on his head, his face pale with shock and fear. Singer was biting his lip hard, tensed as if waiting for the angels to come sauntering in through the front door at any second. Dean tried to move past Castiel once more.

"Well, we need protection at least-"

"_No," _Castiel ground out, lifting a hand to top him. "Guns will make no difference, you know that. We have to run - _now."_

Dean froze for a second, his mouth half open, his eyes darting from Castiel to the stairs and back again. Then something seemed to snap in him and he whirled around, jogging across the kitchen and grabbing Sam's arm, towing his brother towards the door.

"Woods," he said briefly. "The woods behind the house. Now."

Sam craned his neck back to look for Castiel, but he was already following the brothers. Sam pulled open the back door and ducked out into the scruffy mess of a back garden, littered with ancient car parts and sheets of aluminium. Dean stepped back to let Castiel pass, and Castiel heard Singer call the older Winchester's name. He paused as he stepped out into the garden, looking over his shoulder. Singer had tossed Dean a small hand gun. Dean was still hesitating, gun in hand.

"You should come with us-"

"You heard what he said. They won't stop to look for me. They'll move straight on to find you."

Sam had stopped halfway across the garden, hovering anxiously. Castiel felt a small rush of impatience. _"Dean,"_ he growled.

Dean turned, nodding, and strode out of the house. He put a hand briefy on Castiel's shoulder, pulling him into a run. Together they sprinted across the garden, Sam falling into step beside them, and across the the low wooden fence at the back of it. Castiel placed a hand on the posts, vaulting himself easily over it and skidded to a halt a few paces on, looking up at the woods that rose up beyond the house. Darkness seemed to hover directly between the first jagged line of trunks, heavy and ominous. As Dean helped Sam over the fence the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stood on end and a shiver ran through his bones.

_He's coming... he's here..._

"Move!" he shouted roughly, forgetting everything else as the thought of the approaching angel suddenly became very real in his mind.

The Winchesters made it over the fence and broke into an unsteady run, Dean gripping Sam's wrist and pulling the younger man along behind him as he sprinted for the woods. Castiel raced after them without looking back, even as the white light of an angel burst into life at the front of Singer's house. Castiel could sense it a mile off, could feel every nerve in his body screaming. This angel wasn't even trying to mask itself. Its presense roared with anger and sadistic violence, almost laughing as it strode towards the house. Not Israfel. Zachariah? Maybe.

They were into the trees by now, branches whipping their skin as they ran past - there was no time to dodge the smaller ones. They wove between the trees, Sam and Dean sprinting ahead. Castiel's shoes skidded in a muddy patch and he slowed, regaining his balance. A rush of wind blew over him, unnatural, freezing, and he was running again within seconds. His chest was beginning to throb painfully with each beat of his heart, steadily growing worse. But he had to keep it up, had to keep moving... he heard his own breathing fast and jagged in his lungs, felt his blood pulsating hard and rapid, felt his muscles begin to ache as he pushed them as hard as he could. A stray branch ripped over his skin, leaving a long scratch over his cheek, but he barely felt the sting. He leapt a fallen log, darted around a wide tree stump, sprinted through the bracken and ferns as the trees around him whispered fear into his ears.

And then, up ahead, they stopped.

He felt the thud as Sam hit the ground, heard the raw moan, heard Dean's hasty whispers. Castiel darted out into the clearing they had stopped in and skidded to a halt, dust and leaves flying up from the forest floor around him. Sam was on his knees, one arm wrapped around his midsection, his face twisted in pain. Dean had hold of his brother's arm, trying vainly to pull him to his feet.

"Damn it, Sammy, come on! You can do this!"

"N-No..." Sam rasped, his eyes clenched shut. "I c-can't... just run... catch up..."

"You're coming with us, Sam."

Sam lifted his head, looking at Dean with eyes shimmering with agony. "I-I c-can't..."

Dean's face was white. He looked up at Castiel, his gun still clutched in his free hand, his shoulders heaving with pants. His expression said everything. _I can't leave him. He won't make it. I don't know what to do. _Castiel stood still, his brain whipping through the two options they had. Try and get Sam up, try to keep running or... He shut his eyes. Then he strode forwards, grabbing Sam by the shoulder and heaving him up to his feet. Dean slipped in on Sam's other side, pulling his arm over his shoulders. Castiel shoved them both towards the nearest tree at the edge of the clearing, moving after them.

"Don't move," he said, pushing them down to their knees among its gnarled, writhing roots.

"What-"

"_Don't move._"

He turned, spreading his hands, placing himself in front of the Winchester's. He could hear Sam's shallow gasps, Dean's heavy breaths, his own thundering heart. In that one moment, he knew at once who had come to destroy him, who it was Zachariah had sent to collect Michael's vessel.

And when Kushiel sped out of the trees and came to a sharp halt in the centre of the clearing, his eyes glowing with an icy white light, his mouth twisted in a smirk of triumpah, Castiel remained where he was. Between the Winchesters and the angels, his arms spread, his face set.

As long as he had breath in his body, he would protect them.

To the very end.

**Yup, MEAN cliffie... sorry sorry sorry! Does anyone want to know what happens? Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thanks for reviewing!**

* * *

Dean felt his whole body clench in fear as Kushiel appeared in the clearing, leaves flying up into the air around him with the speed of his arrival. He stepped forwards, shoulders back, chin lifted proudly as his eyes roved over the trees, his mouth twisted in a confident smirk. Dean's grip automatically tightened on his gun, the only defence he had, and his other hand closed tightly over Sam's shoulder. If push came to shove, Sam was getting out of here. Dean didn't care if he had to stay behind to distract the angel - Sam was not going down too. Not after everything they had gone through. Within seconds, his whole body was tighter than a bowstring, his legs tensed, ready to leapt up. If he could make it to Kushiel before the angel was too close to them he could maybe slow him down, giving Sam a chance to escape...

It occurred to him that Kushiel didn't seem to be doing much. In fact, he was doing nothing. He stood stiff as a statue, his head the only things that moved, his smirk still fixed on his face. His face turned steadily from one side to the other, like a ventriloquist's doll, his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to breathe in their scent. And yet, no matter how many times his gaze turned directly on them, it still managed to move past. Slowly, as Kushiel's eyes passed over them for the fifth time, the realization dawned on Dean.

Kushiel couldn't see them.

Dean crouched, frozen, still clutching Sam like a lifeline, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Sam's wracking gasps were growing softer as his brother slowly regained his breath, and then also began to notice Kushiel's hesitation. He opened his mouth, no doubt about to ask Dean what was happening, but Dean tightened his grip in a wordless warning. Sam shut his mouth.

_Don't move._

Dean looked up at Castiel, keeping his head still. The angel was still standing in front of them, arms spread, a human sheild. As Dean stared at him, he began to notice the tiny blue electric sparks dancing from his fingertips, shimmering into the empty air. Tiny shards of light speared past them in a small circle, meeting behind the angel just in front of the tree, encircling the Winchesters. The blinking blue glare flickered and flashed in and out of sight. Dean blinked. Castiel was _doing_ something, something which was somehow hiding them from Kushiel's sight. Dean had no idea how he was doing it, but still he felt a pulse of hope rush through him. They might actually escape, if only Kushiel would just _go. _He repeated the word in his mind, pleading silently with whatever forces there were. _Go, go, go, go, go..._

Kushiel's smirk was slowly fading, darkening to a frown. He stepped forwards slowly, his feet making no sound on the earthen ground. His dark hair blew softly around his face and his eyes glowed completely white in the dim shadows of the wood. He rolled his shoulders back and for a fraction of a second the light above him was blocked out, unseen feathers casting a rough shadow on the leafy ground. Dean suppressed a shudder. _Don't move, _Castiel had said. If he broke the spell, if he disrupted the strange sheild Castiel had somehow built around them, he would doom them all. Kushiel took another step.

"Castiel," he called softly, his voice in a sing-song tone like a child. "Casss-tiel."

In front of him, Castiel flinched. Dean's eyes flicked quickly to the angel. From his position he could see the side of his face, the sweat beading rapidlly on his his brow, his teeth clenched in concentration. His hands were shaking wildly with the effort of keeping up the illusion. Dean's heart jolted sharply as Kushiel's head twisted towards them, a breif smile darting over his face. He took three strides forwards, bringing him barely inches from Castiel's face. Dean saw Castiel visabally tense, his hands still trembling. Fear stabbed through him. Castiel couldn't keep this up forever, and Kushiel was far too close for comfort. One more step and he would walk straight into Castiel. Kushiel leant closer, so close that the exhale of his breath stirred Castiel's hair. Castiel shut his eyes tightly, pressing his lips together. Dean held his breath.

_Come on, Cas, you can do this, keep going... Come on, Castiel..._

Kushiel's nostrils flared, as if he could even smell them. Brilliant white light flowed from his eyes, almost like smoke. His head turned, snake-like, to look at either side of the tree.

"Where are you hiding?" he whispered aloud.

Dean didn't dare take a breath, even though his lungs were beginning to scream for air. He didn't move, despite the dull ache spreading through his ankles. He just kept praying, kept holding onto Sam, remained absolutely motionless. His own heartbeat screamed in his ears, impossibly loud and fast, so much so that he thought the others must surely be listening to it too. Kushiel's head cocked to one side, in a absurdly similar fashion to Castiel. Then, suddenly, he straightened and looked up.

"Zachariah?" he muttered. "No, I can't see them... I'm not sure-" He bit his lip sharply, as if being scolded. "I know... very well."

He looked back at Castiel once more, staring straight through him, his face cold and pissed. Then he turned and took three strides back towards the house before vanishing in a blaze of white light.

Castiel let his hands fall with a rattling sigh, the electric blue flashes vanishing. Dean relaxed, slumping back against the tree trunk, shutting his eyes. Sam let his shoulders roll forwards, sucking in a deep breath. Dean looked from one to the other, panting.

"Jesus Christ... Jesus _Christ..._" He glanced at Sam. "Hey, you okay?"

Sam turned to face him, still on his knees in the dirt. He nodded breathlessly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Dean pushed himself up to his feet, pushing his handgun carefully into his jeans and flicking the safety back on. He stepped towards Cas, reaching out to touch the angel's shoulder, and he stumbled abruptly. Dean made a snatch at the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him upright.

"Cas? Whoa, whoa, whoa, you okay?"

Castiel's eyes were slightly glazed, his shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath. He nodded slightly, a short jerk of his head. Dean shook his arm a little, raising his voice.

"Cas? Hey, Cas!"

"_Yes,_" Cas growled, lifting his head. "I'm alright."

"You sure? That was one hell of a stunt you just pulled."

"Yes," Castiel repeated.

Dean let go, glancing quickly back at Sam who was rising unsteadily to his feet. He was staring at Castiel, eyes wide. "How... how did you do that?"

"Just..." Castiel waved a hand vaugely. "... bent the light away. We can all do it - moving the light to blank out certain areas - but its an old trick. I wasn't sure if it would work."

"It was amazing," Sam breathed, shaking his head. "Nice... nice work."

Dean looked at Sam, seeing his exhaustion like a neon sign. Castiel glanced up at him, then lifted a hand to his temple. "You two go back to the house. Its safe now."

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"I'll follow."

Dean hesitated, but then beckoned to Sam. Reluctantly, Sam followed him. Dean placed his hand on his brother's back, guiding him back towards Bobby's house, and not looking back.

* * *

As soon as the Winchesters were out sight, Castiel sank to his knees and let himself fall back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. His whole body felt heavy as lead and drained, empty. He concentrated on breathing, pulling air in and out of his lungs. All he wanted was to just fall asleep and stay unconscious until every problem he had just went away. He was amazed that he had even managed to hide them all from Kushiel. True, it was easy enough to do it when it was just himself, but to mask others too took a lot of energy, and he wasn't exactly on form.

But Kushiel was gone. And they were all still breathing.

Castiel pressed his hands over his face, sighing heavily. Kushiel. Also sent to hell, but an angel with far less of a conscience than Israfel. _Angel of Punishment, _they called him. One of Lucifers closest companions on the road to the pit. Zachariah was holding nothing back this time. He seemed to have broken past all the limits. And there could only be so much time before the angel zoned in on them once and for all. As far as Castiel saw, he had two choices. Either he could hide behind Sam and Dean and keep running until he was caught, or he could do something before it was too late. Castiel tipped his head back against the trunk of the tree, a small smile twitching at his lips as the sunlight poured down on him. He wasn't ready, but then he never truly would be. There was no real choice to be made.

"Anna," he called softly, his voice hoarse. "Anna, I need you."

A few moments passed, in which the wind whispered past his ears and the leaves tumbled around him. Then there was a soft glow from within the trees and Anna appeared, her hair blowing around her face with the rush of her arrival. She moved out into the clearing, looking around.

"What happened? I can hear echoes..." she looked quickly at Castiel. "Was someone here?"

He nodded. "Kushiel," he said. "He came searching for us, but I managed to hide us."

Her eyebrows twitched and she moved forwards, kneeling beside him. "Are you alright?"

He nodded again. "I just need to get my breath back. He didn't find us, and that's what's important."

"And what about next time?"

Castiel looked her in the eye. "If what I'm thinking works, there won't be a next time," he replied quietly.

She frowned, searching his face with her gaze. He blinked slowly at her and then rose to his feet, his legs shaking slightly. He stood upright and pulled his trench coat straight, Anna straightening to reach his level. She was still watching him, her face somewhere between confused and expectant. Castiel held her gaze.

"You want to go after Zachariah," Anna murmured. It wasn't a question.

Castiel wet his lips, curling his hands into fists at his sides. "We can't run forever," he said softly. "We just need to scare him, give him a shove back so that he won't try something like this again."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe." He paused. "But I'll need your help."

Anna stared back at him. "What will you tell the Winchesters?"

"The truth."

Anna thought for a few seconds, staring down at the floor. Then she nodded slowly. "Meet me afterwards," she said quietly, and then melted away into nothing.

Castiel stood still for a moment, trying to pull his thoughts together. He had to tell them at some point, he couldn't just stand here forever. And so, with his trench coat rippling in the wind and the sunlight beating down on his face, he started to walk back towards the house.

* * *

"You're insane. You're bloody insane."

As Dean spoke Sam looked up at Castiel, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. Castiel was planning to go up against Zachariah with no one but Anna at his side. He blinked hard, trying to make the image vanish, but nothing happened. He was still slumped in the chair at Bobby's kitchen table, Dean was still staring open-mouthed at the angel who was standing in the doorway, his face completely serious. Bobby was standing between them, looking quickly from one to the other as if watching a tennis match. Dean pushed away from the counter he was leaning against, stepping towards Castiel.

"Seriously, man," he said. "You _are _kidding, right?"

Castiel returned his gaze without flinching. "I am not."

"But you can't do that," Sam said, his words slurring together. "Zachariah's too strong for you to handle, even with Anna's help. You can't fight him and expect to win."

"I do not expect to beat him," Castiel replied. "I expect to show him that he cannot track us like this again. We can not win this war if Zachariah is always two steps behind us. This is the only way that we will have a chance of winning."

Dean shook his head. "We're gonna have _no _chance of winning if you go kill yourself!"

"I don't plan to die."

"You _can't,_ Cas!" Sam repeated. "I mean, you phisically _can't _survive this. In the state you're in at the moment-"

"There will never be a perfect moment. But I will not run like this any longer."

Sam put his head in his hands, trying to make himself believe what the hell the angel was trying to tell him. He heard Dean swear under his breath, heard his brother take another few steps forwards.

"You're not going to listen to us, are you?"

Castiel gave a small shake of his head. "Not this time, Dean."

"What if Zachariah comes back here?" Bobby asked. "Or catches up with the boys again?"

Castiel pulled his mobile from his pocket, lifted it. "You know how to contact me," he said steadily. "Until next time."

Sam looked up sharply, opening his mouth, but before he could speak Castiel had already blinked into nothingness. Dean turned to face him, his arms folded. "Great," he muttered. "Just great."

**Sorry this chapter isn't quite as long as usual. But I think you can all see a fight coming up, and I can tell you now that its going to be bloody! :D Thanks for reading, please review!!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Thanks for reviewing!**

**And here it is, Dean's reasons finally come out. Hope it doesn't dissapoint.**

* * *

Castiel stood in the shadows of an alleyway, watching the steady flash of the neon red sign across the road. He had seen several men come and go in the few hours that had passed since he had left the Winchesters, and as of yet none had come out again. He glanced down at his watch. 9:55. He allowed himself to vanish into the air and flew upwards, landing on the roof of the building he had been standing underneath. His shoes skidded on the slanted roof, and he shifted upwards once more to balance on the upper ridge of the building. Rain instantly pelted down on him from the cloudy sky, freezing and lashing. His wing was still aching dully with pain, even with only the short movement from the ground to the roof. He was going to have to be careful with how much power he used.

From up on the roof his keen eyes could look straight through the silver rain at the waves that were crashing in on the port, heavy and wild, chasing one another in and out. Black waves, tinged with frothing white, like rabid animals. The port was their target. Close to the sea, where he could hopefully draw as much power as he could from the roaring waves and howling wind when his wings began to fail him.

"Its a rough night."

As she spoke a sharp fork of lightning speared down from the sky and hissed as it skimmed the waters. Castiel glanced to his left, where Anna had just appeared. Her face was feircely controlled but he could see her fear and anxiety in the line of her mouth, the crease of her forehead. He turned his gaze back to the sea.

"It's us. There are so many of us here that the world reacts, screams for us to dance with it." He bit his lip, trying to control his ramblings, and pushed his voice back to its usual emotionless tone. "Did you get any?"

She lifted her hand. The lightning caught on the silver rod she held, scratched with ancient symbols. "I only had time to perfect one. It took so long..."

"One will be enough to kill Zachariah."

"You survived."

"He didn't want to kill me." Castiel hesitated, biting his lip, and then turned to face her. "Anna, I asked you to come here. That doesn't mean you have to."

She raised her head. "I'm here now, aren't I?" she said with a small smile. "It would be a pity to go back now."

Castiel held her gaze. He didn't smile. "Thank you."

She just shrugged. She tucked the metal rod into her inside pocket, her hair by this time flat against her scalp. "I contacted him," she said quietly. "I told him we'd meet him there in four hours."

He just nodded.

* * *

"We have to go after him."

"No."

"He'll die if he goes in unarmed like this!"

"Look, for all we know, Cas has a plan. He's coped on his own before, why should now be any different?"

"Because he's playing wounded, Dean! He's not up to this."

Dean just shook his head. Sam twisted away from him, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. Five hours since Castiel had vanished, and the daylight was shrinking away surprisingly fast. Sam felt disgusted with both himself and his brother. They should never have let him go. They should have found a way to talk him out of it, said something to change his mind. And yet they were still sitting here, like worthless cowards, while Castiel was out there somewhere in the evening about to begin a battle he couldn't win. It was pathetic.

Bobby had retreated into the living room a while ago, leaving the boys to their arguement, but now he appeared and strode across the room to the sink, picking up a box of pills and filling a glass with water. He moved over to Sam, putting the box and glass down on the table.

"You were supposed to take those an hour ago."

Sam glared at him. "So what?" he demanded. "I'll die if I don't take them?"

"No. You'll feel like crap," Bobby replied. "And don't take this out on me, this is between you two."

"Just take the pills Sam-"

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean span around from his position by the window, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "You wanna end up face down on the floor again? God, Sam, why do you always have to be so damn difficult?"

"Me?" Sam asked, his eyebrows shooing up. "I'm not the one who's been acting like a complete dick for the last few days! Is that why you don't wanna go after him, because you don't care anymore?"

"Now," Bobby began. "This is-"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Dean spat, ignoring the older man. "You'd love it I didn't give a shit, just like you hate me for being the one that Cas chose to come to first!"

"Oh, come _on!"_ Sam cried, spreading his hands. "You think I'm jealous?"

"That's what it sounds like."

"This has nothing to do with me! This is to do with _you _acting as if you have a poker stick rammed up your ass!"

Bobby opened his mouth to speak, and then threw his hands up in the air and turned away, striding into the living room and shutting the door tightly behind him. Sam and Dean glared at one another, holding the silence, until Dean finally lowered his gaze and shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling. Sam picked at the side of his glass, his mouth set in a firm, angry line. He glanced up at his brother once more, about to speak, but then noticed the rigid slouch of his shoulders, the clenched, tight expression. He had seen this before. He forced himself to lower his voice, lifting his head.

"Look, Dean... you can't hide forever. Sooner or later you'll have to let it out."

"Bitch," Dean muttered, his scowl deepening as he realized how his mask had slipped. "Give it up, no chick flicks here."

Sam sighed, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. Dean looked up sharply, squirming uncomfortably. "Just take the god-damned pills, Sammy. Please."

"How 'bout this," Sam said, meeting his gaze. "I'll take the 'god-damned pills' if you tell me what's wrong with you."

Dean wet his lips, cast his gaze around the room, rubbed a hand across his mouth, muttered abuse under his breath. Sam waited patiently, completely certain of his response. Dean glanced at him, and then let out a groan and moved over to the table, sliding into the chair opposite his brother.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Fine. We'll care and share. Now, will you please - _please - _take the effing pills!"

Sam smirked and reached for the box. He shook out two of the pills. "Come on, then. Start talking."

Dean stayed silent, pressing his lips together. He leant his elbows, rubbing both hands over his face. Sam put the pills into his mouth and gulped them down with the water, never once taking his eyes off his brother. It was one long minute before Dean spoke, and when he finally did his words were the last thing Sam had been expecting.

"It was like Dad all over again."

"What?"

Dean screwed his thumbs into his eyes, his shoulders heaving as he pulled a deep breath into his lungs. "I tried. I did my best to save him. I pulled the god-damned rod out of his heart and I said the god-damned ritual. And even as I was saying it, I could hear you practically crying in the other room, begging him to get up, begging him to make it through. And I knew, right as the rod broke in two in my hands, that we were too late. _I _was too late. And I came back into the room and he was lying there, and he was... shit, Sammy, he was in the exact same position as Dad was when he was lying on that operating table. And I had his blood on my hands..."

Sam's voice had shrunk into nothing. All he could do was stare at his brother, that pillar of strength that he leant on daily, who was crumbling right in front of him. He wanted to say something comforting, something that would make it all better... he continued to stare. Dean was staring at the table, his eyes slightly red, his face stiff and white.

"You said it yourself. 'We're not losing someone else, we're not fucking losing someone else.' And that's what I'd been telling myself all the way through those hours, but it didn't help. We still lost him. And before you tell me, I _know _he's alive. It doesn't change anything. What about next time? How many more people that we care about are going to die to protect us? I'm just saying, Sammy, that as long as we keep encouraging help from the people around us, those people are going to die. We can't change their minds and we certainly can't stop them."

Sam blinked. Dean's words had spun him so far into his brother's mind that he could barely pull himself out again. And suddenly, he was hit with the image of Dean just days after their father's death, standing in front of the broken Impala, and just... staring. Blank. Rigid. Stone. He leant forwards, running his tongue over his lips.

"Listen, Dean... I understand what you're saying, I do, but you can't believe that. And you can't stop people from fighting the fight-"

"I know. I know you think I'm being a spineless, stupid idiot." Dean raised his eyes, meeting his gaze. "But I swear to god, Sam. I can _not _watch someone else die. I can't go through what happened with Dad again. I can't."

"Then don't," Sam said softly. "Then let's find Castiel. Dean, let's _stop _anyone else from dying!"

Dean shut his eyes, pressing his hands over his face. Silently, he nodded. Feeling at once his brother's need for privacy, Sam rose to his feet and crossed to the sink, his throat suddenly too tight to drink the rest of his water. He tipped it away down the drain and stood still for a few moments, watching darkness settling slowly over the scrapyeard.

"How're we going to find him?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

It was few minutes before Dean replied, so long that Sam thought that his brother hadn't been listening. His voice was hoarse from the emotion he was fighting down, but didn't shake at all as he spoke.

"Same way we found him last time." He looked up at Sam as his brother turned from the window, forced a wry smile. "He said it himself. 'You know how to contact me.'"

A slow smile spread over Sam's face. "We gave Cas a new mobile."

* * *

The loading bay was made up of a maze of huge metal containers, stacked on top of one another like boxes. At the corner of the port there was a square of open space, on two sides the rush and roll of the sea and on the other two the looming height of the metal cuboids. In the darkness the sea was almost invisible, a nameless monster that snarled and clawed at the port as if trying to tear it away and swallow it whole. Castiel and Anna stood between two containers, sheltered from the sharp blaze of the lightning but not from the torrent of rain. Castiel didn't speak, and neither did she. It was as if neither of them were truly real, as if all they were just holograms, out of place in the true world. And they had nothing to do but wait for the end, or maybe even the spark of a new hope.

The rain suddenly let off, so abruptly that Castiel had to cast his eyes towards the sky to be sure. He shot a glance at Anna, who had stiffened, and then moved his eyes over the large empty space he was looking into. The sea still boiled and twisted around them, the clouds still hurled themselves overhead, but there was no rain. Neither Castiel nor Anna needed to speak. They just waited.

Zachariah appeared in the middle of the space, the sea heaving behind him. At his side stood Israfel, hands clasped behind his back, eyes cast downwards. Zachariah smiled brightly as Castiel and Anna moved out of the darkness of the containers as one, and spread his hands.

"You could've done that yourself earlier. Saved yourself from getting wet."

"But why deny you a dramatic entrance?" Anna called back, her voice steady and shrill in the roar of the wind.

Zachariah just smiled. His gaze turned on Castiel as he walked closer, stopping as he reached around ten metres away from them. His eyes shone with laughter and triumph, as if he had already won. Castiel returned his stare without flinching.

"Hello, Castiel."

"Where's Kushiel?" Castiel asked quietly.

"Put it this way," Zachariah said smoothly. "You won't get past the gates if you try to run. Now, wasn't there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

* * *

As they screamed towards the port in the rusting blue pickup-truck Bobby had given to them, water from the turbulent skies roared up on either side of them in great, glittering arcs. In the lightning that screeched down from the writhing skies, Sam could see Dean's face; pale, drawn and stiff. He wanted to tell him that he was sure everything would be fine, but nothing came out of his mouth when he opened it. So he just closed it again and returned his gaze to the road, covered in a good few inches of icy rainwater. His hands gripped his rifle tightly, as if it would protect him from what they were up against. He glanced down once more at the map in his lap which Dean had printed off his laptop. A large red dot indicated Castiel's position, somewhere in the loading docks of the port. In the safety of Bobby's house, Sam had been sure he could fight tooth and nail to help Castiel. In the screaming, slamming, stuttering storm, he was no longer so confident.

But Dean was still driving, and if Dean was still going for it then Sam would always be behind him.

The large gates of the loading dock appeared in the rush of the rain, and Dean skidded to a halt outside them. He didn't bother to park the truck properly, he simply threw it at the curb and then scrambled out, snatching up the bag that lay in the back seat as he went. Sam fumbled to follow him, pulling his bag onto his back, lifting the rifle. Making sure he was ready. _Ready to throw rocks at a hurricane... _he pushed the thought away and strode after his brother. Dean was already at the huge metal gates, too tall to climb. He had taken a pair of bolt cutters from his bag and was hacking at the chains that held the gates shut, silent and relentless. Sam moved up behind him, clutching his rifle.

That was when the rain stopped, abrupt and sharp.

Sam looked up at the sky, as if searching for it, but Dean didn't move. A chill ran down his spine and he turned back to his brother.

"So, we're in the right place, then."

His voice was too high. He took a few deep breaths, but then Dean had the chains cut and was hauling them open, the chains slipping like a molten snake to the floor. He ducked into the port and strode forwards, Sam on his heels.

The port was crammed with huge metal containers, stacked on top of one another in a jumble of twisting corners and edges, a labyrinth. Dean had stopped a few paces in, clearly at a loss as to which way to go. The shadows cast by the containers seemed to stretch and shimmer on the ground, unearthly, unnatural. Sam inched closer to Dean, lifting his rifle. His nerves felt grated together, completely on edge. He could just imagine faceless figures appearing from the shadows, reaching out to kill... he swallowed hard.

"Which way?" he asked quietly, his voice steady.

"I don't know," Dean replied, his voice just as steady, just as quiet. He turned his head one way, then the other. "C'mon," he said at last. "Lets just... this way."

He began to walk. He turned left, then right, then left again, slipping through the metre-wide gaps between the huge containers. Sam followed, his rifle still at head height, just in case. They turned another few corners, and then Dean stopped.

"S'gotta be somewhere around here," he muttered.

"Its been a while," Sam replied. "Maybe... maybe they've all been and gone..."

Those words weren't at all comforting. Dean jerked his head in a small nod. He looked around once more, and then began to move.

"We sh-"

He had barely taken two steps when his whole body suddenly flicked upwards into the air, spinning over and over as it sped past Sam before slamming hard into the corner of a pile of metal containers. He fell to the ground and lay motionless, face-down, his gun skittering away from him across the wet ground. Sam let out a cry of shock and span around, his finger trembling on the rifle, his heart thundering in his chest even as Kushiel appeared in the darkness of the pathways.

"You know, this is private land," the angel said, smirking as he strode forwards. "And you're tresspassing."

"Get back," Sam snarled, doing his best to aim his rifle with shaking hands. "Get away, don't-"

He broke off as Kushiel swept his hand upwards, and as his gun flew from his hands he saw red instead of the cool blues and blacks of the port, his own blood spraying up over his face.

**We're getting close to the end now. I'd say roughly another three chapters? Aiming for twenty as a goal. Hope you guys enjoyed it, please please review!!!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I only own this storyline, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Reviews make me happy! Thank you!**

* * *

Sam hit the ground and lay there, his body spasming with agony, gasping raggedly for air as the pain froze his lungs and blocked out his sight. He could feel wet blood from the jagged gash which stretched from his left hip to his right shoulder rushing over his sides towards the ground, spreading through the rain puddles like scarlet ink. He tried to focus on breathing, focus on _living, _but his blood was roaring in his ears and his heart was thundering and his body was going to sizzle away into nothing if it all kept up-

A booted foot came down in the puddle near to his face, sending dirty rainwater spraying up into the air and over his face. Sam choked on it and twisted to the side, spitting it onto the floor as its sour taste rushed over his tongue.

"Hello, Samuel Winchester," Kushiel said, smirking down at him. "Very nice of you to come, we were thinking we'd have to start the search all over again. Zachariah will be pleased."

"W-Where's Cas?" Sam whimpered, lifting a sluggish hand to his chest. Had to stop the bleeding, or he was going to die right now.

"Not my concern," Kushiel replied flippantly. "At least unless he comes this way. You know, Zachariah's orders were to get Michael's vessel as a priority. And without his vessel, Lucifer won't be able to fight back nearly as well. So..." He pushed his toe into Sam's side, elicting something between a sob and a yell as blood poured over his boot. "... I don't think you're really that nessercary, are you? Just baggage, really."

Sam craned his neck back, the world swimming before his eyes. He could just see Dean lying on the ground a few metres away. It might have just been his blurred vision, but for a moment he was sure he saw his brother stir. He forced a shout from his starved lungs, his voice shaking wildly.

"D-Dean! Dean, ple-ease... Dean, get-t up!"

Kushiel placed his foot on Sam's chest and Sam let out a scream of agony as the angel pressed down on his wound. The angel lifted his hand and Sam's scream gurgled to a sudden stop as water began to push itself up his throat, spilling over his lips and rushing over his face, filling his lungs with its freezing bite. Sam panicked, thrashing weakly against Kushiel's hold, black dots swarming in on him as he struggled and failed to take a breath. The water blocked his windpipe and mouth, bubbling in a mad frenzy, a never-ending flow. Sam couldn't feel the ground anymore, couldn't feel Kushiel's foot on his chest. In a way he felt a strange kind of relief at the thought of sinking into that empty, painless darkness where he could finally stop fighting -

_BLAMBLAMBLAM!!!_

Sam flinched, still choking as the three gunshots ripped the air around them. Kushiel staggered backwards and out of sight, the back of his head breaking open as the three bullets drove through his skull. Blood rained down on the ground as he fell, spattering over the leg of Sam's jeans, its sticky warmth eating into his skin. The water abruptly stopped flowing and Sam retched as he brought it up, choughing and choking violently as the clear liquid spewed from his mouth. Blackness closed over him like the waves of the sea, sudden and silent. It only seemed to last a second or so, but when it cleared someone was holding him up, one hand across his chest, the other rubbing his back as water continued to dribble from his lips. Sam felt the pain from his chest again and tried blearily to pull away, the agony increasing to a unbearable level as he struggled.

"Whoa, Sam, its okay. Sammy, stop! Calm down Sammy, just breathe, okay man?"

Sam stilled slowly as he recognized Dean's voice, Dean's touch. He sucked in a couple of rattling breaths, the suffocating water finally gone, and hung limply in Dean's arms as his brother eased him carefully over onto his back.

"Sammy? Sam, hey! You hear me?"

Dean was tapping his face, calling to him. Sam opened his eyes and his brother's face wavered into face above him, whiter than a sheet, his eyes wide. Sam blinked at him dully, trying to think of the reply he was supposed to give. He was sure it was very simple, just dancing out of his grasp. Dean wasn't wearing his shirt, just his plain white t-shirt. It took Sam a few moments to realize that his brother was wrapping strips of the top around his chest, knotting them tightly in an effort to stop the blood that was flowing out of his body. Sam gasped as he pulled the last strip tight, and Dean looked up sharply.

"Sammy? Hey, its okay, its just me."

"Dean..."

Dean was pulling at him, lifting him to his feet. Sam slumped heavily against him, struggling to breathe, his legs jelly beneath him. Dean pulled a bloodied arm over his shoulders, wrapped his hand around Sam's dripping waist. Sam shook his head blearily, trying to make his tongue work.

"D-Dean, no..."

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean replied sharply. "We have to get out of here, right now. Come on!"

"S'wrong..."

"Those were just bullets, they won't keep him down forever."

With a huge effort, Sam lifted his head. A few feet away he could see Kushiel lying on his back, the back of his skull completely shattered, blood spreading over the ground beneath him and trickling from his open mouth. His eyes stared upwards, stretched wide as if in surprise. In the flashing light of the storm it looked almost as if he had a bloody halo. Sam felt nausea rise in his stomach, and then cold fear as Kushiel's hand twitched, flexing in short jerks.

"Come _on!_" Dean hissed, dragging him towards the nearest opening in the walls of containers.

Sam stumbled with him into the darkness, his dazed mind slowly comprehending that they had no idea where they were going.

* * *

"Well?" Zachariah repeated. He spoke with the air of a teacher calling naughty children out of their hiding place; knowing he was in control and loving it. He folded his hands before him and waited, a confident smile fixed on his face, as Israfel backed off towards the shadows to their right. "Come on, then, let's see your big revolution."

Castiel and Anna stood beside one another, staring back at him. Israfel had by now retreated to the containers at the side of the square space, his hands still clasped behind his back. Castiel nudged Anna's arm lightly, offering what comfort he could, before opening his mouth to speak. Zachariah interrupted him before he could get out a single word.

"I don't bite. Come, let's not lurk in shadows like common men."

Every instinct told Castiel to stay where he was. But, like the proud fool he was, he ignored the voices in the back of his mind and took a few long strides forwards, Anna close to his left. He could taste her fear in the air, just as clearly as he could taste Zachariah's sadistic satisfaction. He stopped around five metres away from the other angel and pushed his trembling hands into the pockets of his trench coat, lifting his chin. Zachariah's eyes bore into him, a shark sizing up its prey.

"You will stop this game you're playing," Castiel said, his voice far clearer and steadier than he felt. "If you persist in war, then you will fight honourably, like our ancestors. Like our Father would want."

Zachariah just quirked an eyebrow. "And if I don't?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed - and Israfel moved. The movement was slight, barely noticable, but Castiel caught it out of the corner of his eye and he moved. He shifted away, landing sharply at the very edge of the port. Waves licked hungrily at his legs from the sea below, casting spray up over the port even as flames roared upwards. Anna span to face him, and then vanished behind a tall wall of fire. Castiel stood frozen, legs bent, ready to run, his wing screaming with pain from the sudden movement. But then the fire died down and he could see the clear ten-metre circle which had been drawn in holy oil on the ground. The circle he and Anna had completely missed, and which she was now trapped inside. He let a curse slip past his lips as she faced him, her eyes wide with terror. Her mouth formed his name and he started forwards, lifting a hand to stop the fire.

"Don't move, Castiel."

Zachariah's voice was silky smooth but when Castiel turned to look at him his face bore a glittering hatred as he stepped forwards, his eyes fixed on the other angel. "Touch those flames and I will kill you at once." He smiled. "You see, Castiel, what you fail to understand is that _we _are going to win this war. Not you. No matter what you do, no matter how many sacrifice their lives for the 'greater good,' we will win. And when I do, I will crush you into the gutter with the rest of the human race where you can wallow in your self-pity for ever. But first, you are going to have to tell me where the Winchester's have run off to."

"We've been through this before," Castiel said quietly. "And you already know my answer."

Zachariah cocked his head. "You're right... huh."

He thought for a moment, and then with a sudden sweeping movement brought his hand upwards. An invisible blow slammed into Castiel, sending him flying backwards through the air and slamming into the metal containers. He scrambled straight up to his feet, biting back a moan as his wing seared. Zachariah was laughing, striding forwards to meet him.

"Do you have a deathwish, Castiel? Is that what this is all about? How much longer do you plan to keep repeating these pathetic-"

He broke off as Castiel punched his fist forwards. Lightning from the sky speared downwards, hitting Zachariah square in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards. His eyes widened in shock as he straightened, his shirt smoking. Castiel moved forwards, lifting his fist once more.

"As long as it takes," he snarled back, pulling all the venom from his heart into his voice. "_As - long - as - it - takes."_

Zachariah's face twisted in anger. "Don't worry. It will take no time at all to finish you."

He pushed both hands forwards and blue lightning leapt from his palms, twisting through the air towards Castiel. Castiel's hands leapt up in response, a reflex, and his own jagged light met Zachariah's halfway. Instantly his feet locked to the ground, his ears began to throb as the pressure in the air around him increased abruptly. Water came down hard on his left and he flinched, shooting his eyes around the area. The waves had suddenly grown huge and were slamming themselves against the port over and over. Flicking his eyes to the other side he saw Anna, fists clenched, her mouth forming whispered words. Trying to get free. Castiel felt a small rush of hope, hope which rapidlly vanished as Zachariah's power increased, sending him skidding backwards a few paces. He could feel sweat standing out on his forehead, feel his wing howling in agony. He couldn't keep this up much longer-

It was around this time that Sam and Dean Winchester came staggering into the open space from a dark gap between the containers to their right.

Castiel's mind blanched as his consciousness recognized them, his eyes jerked towards them, and then he had lost focus and Zachariah's light was driving in on him. It hit him in the shoulder, sending him down on his knees. He heard his own short scream, and yet he felt almost numb to the pain. He looked up, panting, searching out the brothers. They were standing rigid, as if hardly able to believe what they had just walked in to. Sam was leaning heavily on Dean, who had both arms around his brother as he struggled to support him. There was another moment of stunned silence before Zachariah let out a harsh bark of laughter and moved towards them.

"Well, well, well! Sam and Dean Winchester! You're just in time for the entertainment."

Kushiel appeared between the brothers and Anna - Anna, who stood alone without the fire masking her... Castiel barely spared a moment to wonder what had happened, where it had gone - and moved forwards, a maddened glint in his eyes. The back of his head was splayed outwards and blood ran down his forehead from a mass of pulped skin. He looked like a walking corpse. He grinned widely, blood tainting his teeth.

"Sorry, sir," he said breathlessly to Zachariah. "Stupid host wouldn't get up."

Zachariah waved his apologies away and opened his mouth to speak. Castiel pushed himself up to his feet, thrust his fist forwards once more with new-found desperation. Sam and Dean should not be here. They were going to be destroyed here and now unless he could somehow turn this mess around. His lightning punched into Zachariah between the shoulder blades and the angel vanished with a sharp cry, reappearing at the edge of the space near the ocean. He looked up, his face mask of fury. Castiel caught movement over to his right and span around, in time to see Kushiel lift his hand, fire enveloping his fist. Fire which was streaked with red and black and which roared with a thousand agonized screams... _Hellfire. _Castiel's stomach jerked in panic. Only an angel from hell with enough sadistic joy in torture like Kushiel could summon such power as that. And nothing Castiel had could match it. Even as he scrabbled for a plan, anything that would give him one last snatch at life, Kushiel launched the fire towards him.

And as it span towards him, tearing the very air with its ear-splitting screech, Castiel watched it come and knew without a doubt that this was the moment that he would die.

**Yup, another harsh cliffie... so sue me! Actually no, please don't, just review and tell me how cruel I am to all you lovely people! Please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I only own this story, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

**Sorry about the delay, my account for some reason refused to work, no matter how many times I screamed at it. Anyway, here now!**

* * *

Castiel froze as the Hellfire roared towards him, obscuring his vision with a wild tangle of red and black. He began to move backwards, already knowing he was too late. He was going to die, here and now, and there was no one left to help him. The Hellfire blocked out the world, so close now that he could feel its blinding heat on his face.

Things happened very quickly after that. One moment he was standing there, watching his death speed towards him. The next a dark silhouette had appeared in front of him, hair brushing his face as its closeness. A hand shoved him hard in the chest, sending him staggering backwards. Then the Hellfire hit and an ear-splitting, gut-wrenching, agonized scream ripped the air like paper.

But the scream wasn't his, and neither was the pain that rolled through the air in thick waves. Castiel rocked back on his heels, blinking, trying to comprehend what had just happened as the light of the Hellfire vanished. The silhouette in front of him became very clear – blonde hair, scuffed jeans, a designer jacket.

Chest still smoking red fumes, Israfel dropped heavily onto his side on the wet ground and lay still, his wet gasps pulling at Castiel's ears. Castiel stared down at him, mouth open slightly in shock. No. That wasn't supposed to happen...

He glanced up sharply at Kushiel, who having got over the original surprise of the turn of events was pulling Hellfire into his fist once more and aiming at Castiel for the second time, still smirking, still confident. Castiel felt a sudden blinding rage and strode forwards, stepping over Israfel's twitching body, his own hands clenching so hard that his knuckles turned white. Kushiel quirked an eyebrow and lifted his hand, sending another bolt of Hellfire towards Castiel's head. This time he was ready. He threw himself to the side, rolling clumsily up to his feet as his chest throbbed. He lifted a hand to the sky, snatching lightning from the clouds, and tried to fling it towards the other angel. Kushiel simply waved it away, letting out a cold laugh. He stepped forwards, blood and mushy lumps falling from the open folds of his head and slopping sickeningly onto the ground behind him. He thrust his hand forwards and Castiel leapt again, barely escaping the fire this time.

_No, they're not winning this time. They're _not...

He lifted his head as Kushiel moved towards him, gathered himself. He was ready to jump straight for the other angel's neck if he had to. If it would stop him, he would do anything. Kushiel lifted his fist, fire roaring around his fingers – and Anna appeared behind him, the silver rod they had prepared earlier in her hand. Castiel wondered breifly how she had escaped before remembering the rising waves. She must have called them up, cut a hole in the firey circle with their spray. Before she could even twitch her weapon, Kushiel whipped around and tore it from her hand, tossing it over his shoulder. She stumbled backwards, her eyes wide with fear, darting between his face and the Hellfire glistening around his hand. He laughed again, loud and echoing.

"Don't be a fool, Anna," he growled. "I'm in charge around here."

Castiel's eyes widened as he watched Kushiel lift his fist, the Hellfire already licking greedily towards Anna's face. He pushed himself up to his feet, a shout forming in his throat.

Kushiel began to move his hand forwards.

Dean sprinted forwards out of nowhere, scooping up the silver rod from the ground and slamming it into Kushiel's back between his shoulder blades, so hard that it burst out of the front, dripping with scarlet blood. The Hellfire winked out of sight at once as Kushiel gaped noiselessly, his eyes wide. Dean twisted the rod and then planted a heavy kick in the small of his back, sending him crashing to the ground where he lay motionless. He lifted his head, panting, her jacket flecked with blood, and met Castiel's gaze where he crouched in the rainwater.

Silence.

To Dean's right Sam was swaying unsteadily where he stood, his half-opened eyes gazing blankly at Kushiel's still corpse. Dean, panting hard, looked at Castiel, at Anna, at Sam, at Kushiel, and back around again. Anna folded her shaking hands into her pockets, pressing her lips tightly together, trying to control herself. Castiel gazed at them all, at a loss as to what to do or say. Then, slowly, he turned to look at Zachariah.

Zachariah's confident smile was frozen in place on his face, but his eyes glittered with a sudden panic. Castiel took a step forwards and the other angel moved quickly backwards, unfolding his arms. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again.

"Stop hunting us," Castiel growled, his voice a ringing echo in the silence.

Zachariah didn't answer. His eyes flicked around the port, as if searching for a hidden ally. Castiel took another step, lifting his fist threateningly, and without wasting another second the other angel vanished into the open air. Castiel let out a long breath that he hadn't realized he was holding and shut his eyes tightly, taking a moment to collect himself once more before turning slowly to look at the three people still standing in the port. Even now he couldn't quite understand the speed at which it had all ended. It seemed like mere seconds ago that Zachariah had appeared in the port, demanding explainations.

"Are you alright?" he asked, directing the question at all of them.

Anna nodded shakily, her damp red hair flickering in the wind. Dean grunted an affirmitive reply, moving quickly back over to his brother and slipping an arm around his shoulders. Sam leaned against him, blinking owlishly.

"Fine," he said gruffly. "Same can't be said for the swooning princess, here."

He joggled Sam, who winced. "Mm okay..."

Castiel looked from one to the other, his expression suddenly stern, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. "What are you doing here? I came alone for a reason."

"Yeah, well, that reason was wrong," Dean replied. "In this war, you don't do things on your own."

"Gotta... watch yur ba'k," Sam slurred.

Despite his initial fustration at their persistance to put themselves in danger, Castiel couldn't help but feel a glow of affection for the two humans. Even if they were reckless and confusing and argumentative and complaining... he managed a small smile, moving his eyes down to Sam's bloodied chest.

"Is he injured badly?"

Dean shook his head. "Don't think so. Kushiel sliced him open and then tried to drown him, but the cut looks mostly superficial. I think its just the shock and... and other stuff."

Castiel nodded, understanding. Considering all Sam had been through over the last few weeks, it wasn't surprising that this additional injury had shaken him. He looked around for Anna, about to suggest that they would fly out as soon as possible. She had moved across the port and was crouched beside a body on the ground, a body smoking slightly, twitching and jerking, pulling tortured, shuddering gasps in and out. Castiel's stomach twisted. He turned back to Dean, striding over to him.

"I'll send you back to your friend's house."

"And you?"

Castiel held his gaze. "I'll be in touch soon." He paused, glancing at Kushiel. "Thank you for coming after me. Without you, I'm sure we'd both be dead."

Dean shifted awkwardly, pulling Sam closer to him. "His stupid idea," he muttered, jerking his head at Sam, but he smiled as he looked back at the angel.

Castiel inclined his head slightly and lifted his hand. His gaze darted to Sam. Then he touched his fingertips to Dean's forehead and the two Winchester's vanished abruptly. Castiel's wing seared but he ignored it, instead turning and walking slowly over to Anna. She glanced up as he approached and gave the tiniest shake of her head before shifting backwards, giving him space. He knelt down beside Israfel's spasming, broken, bloodied body. The angel's eyes snapped up to his face, tears spilling from their corners.

"H-Hello, C-Castiel."

"Hello, Israfel," Castiel replied quietly.

Israfel's chest was a mass of burned skin and clothing and bleeding, scorched flesh. The vivid burns spread up over his face, rendering one eye nothing but an empty, bleeding socket. Blood streaked his skin, trickling from his nose and mouth. But he smiled as he looked up at Castiel, smiled with the air of a human on the brink of death, ready for the final release.

"You shouldn't have done that," Castiel murmured, his heart twisting in on itself in his chest. "Israfel, you didn't have to..."

"We al-lways h-have cho-oices-s," Israfel stammered through the blood leaking through his lips. "Y-You're worth m-m-more than m-me."

Castiel took a deep breath. "Maybe... maybe Anna and I could do something..."

Israfel jerked his head in a small shake, the answer that Castiel already knew was coming. He ran a trembling hand through his soaking hair, trying to find appropriate words. What was he supposed to say now? What was he supposed to do...

"C-Cas..."

Castiel looked up at him. Israfel's one good eye bore into him, red with tears. Castiel offered as much of a smile as he could muster. "I forgive you, Israfel," he said softly.

A grin chased over Israfel's face, and his gaze turned skywards, misting over. "S'good," he whispered, his voice far away. "N-Now... I'll see h-her again... Katherine..."

His chest stopped heaving with a gentle shudder. Castiel pressed his lips together for a moment, trying to hold in the inexplicable grief he felt, and then reached down to close Israfel's eyes.

"Goodbye, brother," he murmured.

And as the lightning darted over the sky in jagged zig-zags two ghostly sets of wings could be seen imprinted on the grey dirt of the port as two more angels left the war game.

* * *

The damp ground of the Singer Salvage Yard slammed into Dean's feet, the impact shuddering through him as he fought for balance. Sam was trying to support himself but every time he got close pain rushed over his face and his legs buckled, forcing Dean to snatch for his jacket. Dean wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders and began to help him towards the porch, his heart jerking at the blood on his chest. What he had told Castiel was true - the wound looked mainly superficial. But that didn't mean that it wasn't going to worry Dean until he got it properly cleaned up, especially after Sam's recent fever. They moved awkwardly up the steps, Sam dragging behind him, and Dean knocked on the door as loudly as he could. There was a faint clatter from the kitchen and then quick footsteps. The door opened a crack and then all the way as Bobby recognized them. His expression darked.

"Aw, you gotta be kidding me," he said as he moved forwards to take Sam's other side. "What happened?"

"We got there," Dean replied breathlessly as the two of them half-carried Sam into the living room and placed him on the sofa. "Kushiel and Israfel are dead, Zachariah made a run for it. Castiel sent us back here, to take care of Sam."

"He okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding. "I think he is."

Bobby huffed slightly and then turned out of the room. "I'll get the first aid kit."

As he walked away Dean went down on his knees at Sam's side and began to untie the ragged strips of his own shirt he had tied around Sam's chest. His brother winced sharply as Dean pulled them away, revealling the jagged gash reaching across his torso.

"Don't worry, man," Dean said softly, inspecting the cut carefully. "Chicks dig scars."

"Not the big ones," Sam panted.

"Which, the girls or the scars?"

Sam managed a small laugh. He caught his breath, wincing, and then let out a sigh. "Cas didn't die," he said.

"No," Dean replied, grinning. "He didn't."

"You okay?"

"Know what, Sammy? I'll be super, just as soon as we get you cleaned up."

Sam let his head fall back against the sofa, shutting his eyes. "Think I'll need stitches?"

Dean examined the wound again. "Don't think so... no. I reckon it'll be okay."

A smile flickered across Sam's face. "Good... stitches are a bitch..."

Dean just smiled in reply and settled back against the sofa to wait for Bobby, one hand on his brother's knee to let him know that he was still there. His mind rolled over the events of the past few weeks, the conversation he had had with Sam just a few hours ago. He wet his lips.

"Sammy... thanks. You know, for keeping me going. Thank you."

Sam's eyes stayed closed and he didn't answer. Maybe he was asleep. But still, Dean was sure he saw another smile dance across Sam's lips, just enough to push away the aches and pains of the night and leave him feeling relaxed.

They were going to be okay.

**Nearly over now! One more chapter, I think, to tie it all up. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with it, please review!**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I only own this story, not Supernatural or Sam and Dean!**

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For a change, Castiel matirealized at the end of the long, deserted road which led to the Singer Salvage Yard and began to walk, hands in pockets. It was early morning, the world still damp with dew and the cold of night. But on the horizon the rays of the sun were reaching up towards the pale blue of the sky, lighting the scrubby grass at the sides of the road in a vibrant green and igniting every daisy and weed. Castiel's shoes tapped on the tarmac road and he smiled as he moved his gaze over the landscape, marvelling at its simple beauty. In the silence of the beginning of the day, he felt relaxed for the first time in a long while.

True, Israfel was dead. When he thought of that fact he felt a surge of regret. If he pictured the moment in his head he could think of a thousand things he could have done differently to spare that life, but if he was honest with himself, there was nothing he could have done. Israfel's last words were true - he had made his final choice, and it was the right one. At least now there was no question of his loyalty, no fear of discovery. And Kushiel was gone too, not to return. No doubt that news helped the Winchesters sleep at night, considering all the hell angel had done. As for Anna, she was gone. She had stayed with him for a while, long enough to bless Israfel's vessel. He didn't blame her for leaving. To follow him around was to tie herself down, and to play with fate. And he would see her again, he had no doubt about that. In the coming war she would be needed just as badly as himself to protect the world from the monsters in the dark.

But for now, there was nothing but himself and the road, and for that he was thankful.

His wandering thoughts turned once more to the Winchesters. The ones who had come to help him not once but twice, pulling him back to his feet when he had needed an ally the most. And at this moment, he could dare to believe that they truly cared for him. As long as he had them to lean on, to trust, to protect, he could believe that they may just have half a chance at winning this war. It seemed almost funny to him now that a week beforehand he had been dewelling on the agony of having no one to help him, no family, no real friends when all along Sam and Dean had been just two steps behind him. It seemed that they had always pictured him as an important person in their lives since the war had begun. He just hadn't had the common human sense to understand their feelings. Come to think of it, he _still _didn't understand most of what they said and did, but that didn't seem to matter so much anymore.

The conclusion he was trying to reach through all these befuddled ramblings was that he finally felt at home. More at home than he had in his life.

Of course, that didn't mean that he had no reason to worry. Zachariah was still out there; it was only a matter of time before he tried something else. And the Winchesters were still slap bang in the middle of a war which looked like it was about to end bloody. There was still evil trying to break them down, but for now it was easy to believe that he could stand up to it. Castiel was nearing the Salvage Yard now, and he could see the glint of the sunrise on the dusty windscreens of ancient broken-down cars. He had left it a few days before returning to them, to give Sam time to recover from Kushiel's handiwork and Dean some space. And the Singer man had probably had enough of angels to last him at least a week. But he couldn't stay away forever.

He turned into the Yard, his shoes kicking up small dust clouds of shimmering soil. He had replicated his old suit and tie, prefering his original clothes to the baggy, worn ones he had been given. Besides, those ones reminded him of his weakness. It was time to look forwards. He made his way over to the house, moving with steady steps up the flaking porch. He reached the door and knocked on the scratched wood four times. He stood waiting. He could have just appeared directly inside, but he felt that to come in this way was to respect human traditions of entering through the main door. Besides, the words _personal space _had come up more than once in the past. After a few moments the door pulled open and Singer appeared in the gap. He relaxed at the sight of Castiel, leaning his rifle against the corner once more.

"Castiel," he said, inclining his head slightly.

Castiel returned the greeting and followed the older man through into the kitchen. Sam was sat at the table, his shirt hanging open to reveal a bandage that hid his slowly healing wounds. His fingers flicked over the keyboard of his laptop, his eyes roving the screen with critical precision. Dean was sipping coffee as he leant back against a counter beside the sink, his eyes wandering around the room. As Castiel entered both boys looked up, and a grin spread over Sam's face.

"Cas!" he said, lifting a hand. "There you are. We were thinking about naming you M.I.A."

"Hey, Cas," Dean added, smirking at the angel. "Our lowly human clothes not good enough for you?"

Castiel blinked, defining the teasing tone in Dean's voice but unsure of how to answer it. Eventually, he settled for, "I am grateful for everything the two of you have done for me. I hope one day to repay you."

"I think you already have," Sam replied, but Dean cut in.

"Great! There's a dinner in Oklahoma that does the _best _pie, fancy nipping down there to get one for me?"

Castiel arched one eyebrow at him. "Maybe later," he said flatly.

Sam rolled his eyes; Dean huffed. Singer folded his arms, looking from one to the other. "Joking aside, what's the plan? We still have the friggin' apocalypse on our hands, and no colt yet unless you boys have neglected to mention something."

Castiel nodded. "You're right," he said. He looked around the room at all of them, making eye contact with each man before continuing. "In your words, 'we got work to do.'"

The End.

**Sorry this chapter was so short, but I really didn't feel like there was much more to say. It was mostly just to tie up the loose ends and set the boys on their next path... which is yet to be decided on. :D Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with this story and reviewed, you guys are the ones who helped me to finish it! Hope everyone enjoyed it.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**

**P.S in the unlikely event of a sequel - nothing more to this story, but hey, why not? - I'll upload a preview chapter at the end of this story to alert anyone who's interested. Any ideas are welcome! **


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